Candle in the Wind
by schwartzibrow
Summary: Ever wonder what was going through Michael's head throughout Flamin? And even if you didn't wonder, still check this out. Because Schwartzibrow loves you. And Howie D. Maybe Howie more. But Howie doesn't get to read a cool story!
1. Harsh Reality

**So I know there are a ton of Mia/Michael shippers here, and Schwartzibrow is definitely one of them. But Schwartzibrow is also seemingly obsessed with the idea of Michael being the perfect guy...for another guy. Don't hate, though. Hate is bad. Hate...starts wars. Just enjoy. Then you can go read Better Than Perfect and realize how much we suck. But you can also review.**

Have I ever mentioned how much I despise reality television? Ya know, except for the Real World. Because how the hell do you beat seven young adults battling out their insecurities with promiscuous sex, animated brawls, and excessive amounts of alcohol…all in one house…with a CONFESSIONAL?

But besides that, I utterly loathe watching white trash parade around on my plasma screen in hopes that their antics are the ticket to fifteen minutes of fame. I mean, seriously. Have they no shame? At least the Real World identifies with the average twentysomething nomad and is on a glorious mission to reunite lost souls with their owners.

Since when does Trump care about soul-searching? Do the cast members of Survivor ever find anything besides diseased rats? And the day I eat a bull testicle…let alone whore it around on national television…is the day my little sister buys an Ashlee Simpson album.

The worst one of all is Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. I hadn't even dignified it with a viewing till I was over at Trevor's the other night with Felix and Paul.

"You gotta see this, dude," said Felix, snatching the remote from a rather sauced Trevor. "It's the funniest shit on the planet."

After which we were treated to a half-hour of five flamers strutting around in tight pants and imparting their fashion expertise to hicks.

While the other guys roared with laughter, I found myself looking down at my snug jeans in sudden discomfort. And not just because I had finally realized that buying two sizes down was a bad idea.

What was so funny about all this anyway? I see fashion-challenged masses every day and no one's filming my frustration.

"What are they dressing him in anyway?" snorted Felix. "No one in their right mind would wear something that shiny…and _purple_."

I glanced down at my shirt in sudden horror. "Unless they were making fun of those queers!" I said loudly, my chuckles coming out more like hysterical barks. What's so _queer _about combing your hair anyway?

But their eyes were glued to the screen, with smug grins plastered on their face. What were they all so pleased about anyway? _Congratulations, you CLASH! _

With a shaky sigh, I reached into the ice chest at my feet and cracked open a beer.

That wasn't the first time I realized there was something a bit off. The slight lisp that never faded away, even after thousands of dollars worth of speech therapy…the time my mother found me trying on her mascara, and I was twelve…and, of course, the gazillion and one times I've heard my dad bark, "Don't cross your legs, son!"

Maybe I'm making a Britney out of a Michelle Branch. I mean, that little tingly feeling that rushes through my body when Russell comes on screen in _Almost Famous _could just be my admiration for a talented guitarist. Of course, the tingling occurs in my nether regions…

But what if I've just got the theater bug? Like, that bit of drool that inevitably hangs out of my mouth whenever I see Adam Brody could just be my overwhelming desire to get into the biz. He made it big…why can't I? Because then I'd probably be able to afford whatever he uses to make his hair look so damn soft and luscious…

Fuck. I just said luscious.

No matter! Words…those are a method of communication, right? Without words, we'd be…Helen Keller! And I can only think of about fifty people off-hand who deserve that.

What am I worried about anyhow? Nothing! Because there is _nothing wrong_. This little bout of paranoia is the result of…drugs. Ya know, being the gigantic cokehead that I am.

So…that Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. That is one fucking hilarious show, ain't it?

I'm burning all my violet apparel first thing in the morning.

If I didn't fully intend to demolish Judith Gershner in the race to become valedictorian, I'd drop out of old AEHS now.

I can just see Albert Einstein turning in his grave. He whose wacky coiffure is immortal must house beefcakes like Josh Richter, who place more gel in their hair than pride…which is saying a lot.

It must be murder to run your hands through hair like that. Like a fucking Rice Krispies commercial…snap, crackle, pop!

Not that I have any plans to stroke the golden strands adorning Beefcake's head. Especially not after what he did to poor Mia Thermopolis.

I wonder if, before he proved himself to be one gigantic anus, he presented Mia with the opportunity to touch his flaxen locks. Because she might tell me what it's like. I did, after all, save her from total humiliation at the dance.

I don't even know what I was doing there in the first place. I suppose I could play the hero and say I came to protect Mia from the clutches of her assy date. But that would be a wee bit false. I mean, sure, I knew Josh wasn't as golden as his hair. And I was most definitely against Mia having anything to do with him.

I just itched to see what these things were like. I asked Felix if he wanted to come along with me, but he was already booked for a party thrown by some girl from Trinity.

Plus, how weird would that have looked if I had walked in with a guy on my arm? Would people sigh and coo, "Oh, how perfectly their tuxes match!"

If we danced, would I put my arms around his neck, or the other way around? We are about the same height, but he's a bit more muscular—

Wow! Is that the bell already? I think I'll catch a few winks during first period. It is, after all, Psychology, and the way I'm headed, I'll be the next case study.

**More to come...**


	2. Snap, Crackle, Pop

As I was going through mom's dresser, looking for her tweezers, the phone rang. I reached for the cordless next to her bed and answered it on the second ring.

"Yo." Does sounding macho on the phone make me macho?

"Michael! Guess what?"

"What, Thermopolis?"

"Josh and I are back together!"

I almost dropped mom's bottle of Winter Ice perfume I'd been holding (it was in front of the manicure set. I'd figured there were tweezers in there, okay?).

"What?" I gasped. "What did I tell you last night, Mia? He's a jerk, and he doesn't deserve you. You're too good for him."

She really is. She's such a nice girl, and he's such…an ass. The fact that he's got a perfectly toned behind has no effect on my feelings towards him whatsoever.

"No he's not. It was all a mistake last night. He apologised and I forgave him. It's all good now."

"God, Mia. Are you thick?" How can she think he's still got credibility?

"No, I am not, Michael. And I don't appreciate your demeanour."

"Well that's too bad. Because you are thick of you think Josh isn't just going to use you again. Because he will. I thought I made you see the light last night! Now you've just changed your mind?"

"No, you had some good points last night, Michael. But I've thought it all over, and what he did wasn't that bad. And he's learnt from his mistake now. Believe me, things can only get better from now on."

"Oh, Mia, you are a fool if you believe that."

I heard her sigh; obviously, she no longer cares what I think.

"Can you just put Lilly on the phone, please?"

I didn't reply. I just walked back in to the kitchen and threw the phone at Lilly before stalking off into my room.

I can't believe my talk to her at the dance last night was for nothing.

Doesn't she realise what she's doing to herself? She's setting herself up for heartbreak all over again! And this time, I may not be there to pick up the pieces.

Nope, she's all on her own. She's a lost cause.

-

While making myself a banana and honey smoothie later, I decided that maybe Mia wasn't such a lost cause. And dragging her away from Josh Richter could definitely be fun. And it would be doing her a favour anyway.

So armed with a peace offering (Star Wars, she loves these movies almost as much as me) I sauntered over to the loft and waited for her to return home from her date.

Her mom wasn't home, so I let myself in with the spare key she leaves under the mat. For two girls living alone in New York City, they're not very security conscious.

Eventually she came home and after a little hesitation, we watched the movie. I even apologised for butting in on her business. Of course, I still feel like I'm right about Josh, but how am I going to gain her trust about such matters when all I do is berate her like a child?

And Mia's no child. She's sweet, and caring, and totally button cute. I can see why Josh would want to date her, besides the fact that she's a princess. So if he really isn't pretending to like her, I can see why he would.

"Thanks, Michael, I really app…" she started.

"Shh," I told her, putting my arm around her shoulders. "Han is on screen. I like this bit."

She smiled and snuggled up to me.

Yeah, Mia's a great girl…Ooh! Light Saber fight!

-

Felix came over the next weekend to play video games.

I stretched out on my bed while he chose a game.

"Where are the rest of them?" he asked, looking up at me.

"The rest of what?" I asked.

"Your games. All you seem to have are Mario Bros. games. Don't you have any sport or racing games? Football, soccer? Eternal Darkness or Time Splitters?"

I shrugged. "I have Zelda. And Star Wars."

"Man," Felix sighed. "I knew I should have brought some games over."

"What's wrong with Mario Brothers games?" I asked. Mario Kart is a classic, and the new Game Cube version is gold.

"They're just so…gay," he finally said. "So, what else do you wanna do then?"

"I don't care. It's your choice."

He stood up and wandered over to my bookshelves, where I keep my DVD's, giving me a good look at his behind. Not that I was looking or anything. I was just admiring his jeans.

"You keep your others under the bed?" He grinned and turned around.

"Other what?"

"You know…your pornos."

"Oh, no, I don't really have any of those."

He laughed. "Yeah, right. Come on, show me."

"I really don't have any."

"I'm not going to go telling your mother, dude. I want to see if I've seen them. Otherwise maybe I'll borrow them. Come on."

He took a few steps forwards and dropped to his knees, reaching under the mattress.

"Felix," I said, slightly distracted by the soft scent his cologne. "I really don't have anything under there."

"Well, where do you keep them then?" he asked, sitting back, only inches from where I was sprawled on the bed.

"I don't have any. Plain and simple."

"Michael, I find that very hard to believe." He reached over and started to open my dresser, where I keep that poster of Heath Ledger that was in last month's Cosmo. He was wearing a really great shirt, it brought out the colour in his eyes. I just didn't want Felix to see it because he might think there was another reason I ripped it out of the magazine and kept it.

"Don't," I said, reaching for his hand and grabbing it. His face was now only inches from mine.

He smiled. "So this is where you keep it. Come on! Show me!"

Something about his grin, coupled with his sparking eyes set something off inside of me. I've certainly never thought of doing this before, but I couldn't help thinking it now. But suddenly all I wanted to do was grab Felix's face and bring it towards mine, kissing the life out him.

So I did it.

Or at least started to, until he jumped up as though his pants were on fire. And not the same way my own pants were on fire.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing?"

I lay back on the bed and held my hands over my face. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

He was silent for a good minute. I didn't dare look at him. Eventually he sighed and said, "I'm gonna go."

Then he just left. Leaving me confused, and…more confused.

What the hell did I just do?

**If anyone...anywhere...is reading this, reviews are totally welcome.**


	3. Everyone's a Little Queer

**To SapeloSweetie, who needs to destroy Judith and whose story rules.**

I sat on the floor of the bathroom, head in my hands.

So…I—I—well, it may seem to some that I just kissed someone.

That someone being my best friend.

Who is a guy.

My breathing was about as shallow as the toilet water that wouldn't allow me the decency of drowning myself. Not that I tried. Just contemplated.

This is…ridiculous. Yeah! Ridiculous! I didn't wanna kiss Felix! It was an accident, that's all.

He does NOT smell good in the least. And that warm feeling in my pants? Easily attributed to one of two things. They just came out of the dryer or…well, I can't say a teenage boy wetting his pants is less embarrassing than one who wants to snog with his best bud.

"Hey, dorkus!" called the loving tones of my little sister. "Some of us have to primp!"

Ignoring her wishes for me to evacuate, I stood up and inspected my reflection. If anyone needs beautification, it's me. My eyes are way red and bloodshot. And my nose? Yeah, last time I checked, snot isn't in this season.

Not that I've been checking those sorts of things.

Anyway, Lilly only wants to get ready for her stupid date with stupid Boris. There's your proof right there that I'm not…well…not the sort of person who would kiss his best friend.

No amount of money in the _world _would entice me to plant a wet one on that mouth-breather.

See? I'm fine. Not that there's anything _wrong _with…well…

What does it matter anyway? Because that's not me. So why talk about it? I could be…playing Mario Kart.

"_They're just so…gay," he finally said._

"Hey, Dad, where do we keep Sports Illustrated?" I asked my dad, finding him in the living room reading _Anna Karenina_.

"Check the bathroom, son," he said absentmindedly.

I can do that. I can be the guy who reads about…racquetball or Ultimate Frisbee or whatever in the john, instead of plucking my eyebrows.

But upon catching my reflection in the hallway mirror, I got the queasy feeling one gets when he sees how lovely his brows look when he's actually put a little work into them.

The next day at school, I spent more time worrying about what I'd say to Felix when I saw him then stuff I'm actually supposed to be worrying about. Like who Lana is on the rebound with. And Mrs. Hill's ghastly taste in foot apparel.

But Felix took care of my troubles for me. And no, we didn't have a heart-to-heart discussion on why our lip-lock was perfectly acceptable and why he wants it to reoccur hundreds of times more in the future.

Nah, he just avoided me.

Sure, I saw him once or twice. But it always his back, speeding away from me.

At lunch, he wasn't even at the Computer Club table. Where was he, you ask? How would I know? I'm not his best friend. Just the queer who can't keep his mouth to himself.

NO! I'm not _a_ queer. I'm just a little queer. Not a diminutive fag! More like Hardy Boy talk. I'm a little…_weird. _Everyone is! So it's all right. It's all all right.

Trevor was at my locker after school, grinning in a way that told me Felix hadn't imparted any of our recent troubles to anyone else.

"Moscooooooovitz!" he whooped, punching me in the shoulder.

"Yo," I said gruffly, sidestepping him to get to my locker.

"You all right? You look a little pale."

What! Maybe I should ask Lana Weinberger where she fake bak—NO! Noooo. Not what I need right now.

"I think I've got a cold."

"Ohhh. Is that why Felix is being so…invisible? Probably doesn't wanna jinx his hot date this weekend."

Not that I have any effect on his love life.

"Probably," I laughed, slamming my locker shut. "I'm outta here."

"Are you going bowling tonight? The chica with the nose ring is working the concession stand. You know she's got a thing for you."

"Is that so?" I asked offhandedly. "Well, I should probably stay home and…inhale Dimetapp or something." Also, Sixteen Candles is on. "And Die Hard's on TNT. Don't wanna miss that."

"Ooh, classic," said Trevor with an approving nod. "I'll stop by if I whoop Paul's pansy ass quickly."

I chuckled weakly and hightailed it out of school.

To my great (mis)fortune, Felix was right outside the school gates.

"Hey," I panted, chewing on my lip.

He nodded curtly and started walking. I fell in step beside him, waiting for the right opportunity to speak up. That being whenever my head decided to stop residing in my ass. Or my foot in my mouth. Or maybe some wacky combination of the two. Ten bucks says I'm a natural contortionist. My everyday conversations seem to prove it adequately.

"Going bowling tonight?" I squeaked.

After one long second, he shook his head. "I've got a date," he said, before adding, "With a girl."

"Of course!" I said, laughing a bit too loudly. "'Course you do."

We walked in silence for a few yards before I gathered up enough nerve to open up the conversation again. "So…um, about yesterday…"

Before I could even come up with some sort of excuse, Felix turned fuchsia all over. "About that…what's up with you, man? I never took you for a fag."

I haven't exactly either. In fact, I've told myself again and again that I am most-definitely, no-buts-about-it NOT one.

"Maybe I…well, here's the thing—" I trailed off, my eyes downcast.

"Seriously, though," said Felix, on a roll now. "What possessed you to do that? I'm not…not giving off _vibes_, am I?"

"No!" I assured him. "It was a mistake. That's all! I mean, I know you're not…well…And I'm not that either! I was just in a weird mood that's all. Ya know what? I think I was running a temperature. Delirious, ya know? And sometimes when people are running…running high temperatures they get a little…_strange_. And that's all I was doing! Running a temperature. I might still be now…feel my head."

But while I waited for Felix to rest his tanned palm upon my head, he just looked at me oddly.

"I dunno, man," he grumbled, looking anywhere but my earnest eyes. "This is just a little weird…I'll see you around."

Just as Felix was leaving me in the dust, Mia strolled over with her greasy boy-toy. "What's up, Michael? Are you okay?"

I answered her questions as normally as possible, but my mind was so elsewhere.

Felix believed me, right? About the fever thing?

Who am I kidding? Even I don't believe me.

**Review!**


	4. What Would Uncle Jesse Do?

**I'm feeling hurt...slightly confused...but mostly pained. Is this story THAT bad?**

Chapter Four...

Obviously Felix didn't believe me about the whole fever thing; he's still avoiding me. And I'm kind of avoiding everyone else.

I don't have anyone I can talk to about this. Lilly would just be weird cos she's my sister; My parents would psychoanalyse mel and all my friends would freak out on me like Felix did, even if I didn't try to kiss them. Let's face it, guys don't really respond very well when they find out their friends liek that sort of thing. Not that I do!

But...well, maybe I do. I just don't know. I'm so confused.

And I can't talk to Thermopolis about it, because she's so involved in Josh right now, it's all she ever talks about. I bet the pages of her journal are just filled with _I Heart Josh_'s and so forth. Does she ever use that thing for anything substantial?

Wait a second...why don't I do the same thing? No, not write _I Heart Josh_ all over my Algebra notes, but talk about my problems with an inanimate object. That way it can't freak out, and it can't talk back. Sure, it can't give me advice, but maybe it can let me sort through all the thoughts running through my head.

I pulled the old toy chest out from under my bed and started rummaging around. I'm sure my parents once gave me a journal to write about my feelings and shit. I never used it because I couldn't be bothered, but now I can be.

Ah, there it is. And it's covered in Star Wars stickers from that convention I went to when I was fourteen. I had no where else for the stickers!

I opened it up and stared at the blank pages. Where to begin...I don't know.

So I just started writing. It didn't make a whole lot of sense most of the time, it was aimless babble about guys and girls, and what I think of them. Then I wrote about what happened with Felix and how he freaked out on me.

After a solid hour of writing, I felt so much better. No wonder Thermopolis does this all the time; it's more therapeutic than a day at mom's day spa, getting a seaweed wrap. Not that I've ever done that, of couse. But Mom's told me about all the things they offer. Some of them don't sound so bad...

But none of them could compare to getting all that off my chest in the journal. It's like, a weight has been lifted right off my shoulders. I still don't know what's going on with me, why I have a nagging urge to try on stiletos to see just how girls can walk in them, but at least now I've talked about it.

I just hope no one read what I wrote. Not only would they think I was a total nut case, but they'd iknow/i too! And I can't have anyone knowing before I even know. It's bad enough that Felix knows!

Later that night Mia was over with Lilly, watching a movie, Rebel Without A Cause. Felix may have strong lips and adorable cheek dimples, but he comes nowhere near James Dean.

Did I just say that?

I mean...James Dean is just the epitome of all that is...wait. I'm so not going there.

James Dean is just an actor. Nothing more, nothing special.

He's certainly no Sarah Michelle Gellar! Now _there_ is a fine actress! No one can hold a candle to her!

Except James has got those piercing eyes, and a brow to die for. He HAD to have plucked in his day. I wonder if I'll ever get mine as perfect as that?

I was looking at the screen contemplating this when I noticed Thermopolis looking at me strangely. I quickly made my exit. The last thing I need is Mia knowing my business when she's still attached to Josh's hip.

Because Josh knowing anything about me would just be tragic.

I should have known Mia wouldn't give up that easily. Her catching me looking at James Dean is surely not the first time she's noticed something weird in my behavior recently.

She knocked on my door while I was on the What Would Uncle Jesse Do? site.

I was only there for a laugh, it certainly wasn't becuase I heard there were new photos up or anything. I need a bit of cheering up right now.

"Hey, Thermopolis," I said, smiling a litte. There's no point in telling her to bugger off, that'd only increase her interest in what's bugging me lately. And besides, I like her company.

"Hey, Michael," she said, stepping into the room a little further. "Whatcha doin'?"

I hadn't managed to close the screen in time, so I shrugged and pointed to the computer screen. "I can't sleep, so I was on this 'What Would Uncle Jesse Do?' website. It's hysterical. Wanna see it?"

She nodded and came and sat next to me on the computer chair. I put my arm around her to keep her in place.

We looked at the site for a while, laughing at all the fake photos and 'facts' about him. But eventually she fell asleep on my shoulder.

Being ever the gentleman, I picked her up and carried her over to my bed. It's too late to take her into Lilly's room. Then I crawled in next to her and fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up and Mia had snuggled up into my arms. I felt kind of weird to know that usually any guy would be quite pleased to wake up with his arms around a gorgeous girl, but I felt nothing. She was just Mia.

I hopped out of bed and went to make breakfast. I need to think and Fruity Pebbles always clears my mind. Teamed with journal writing they'd make an unbeatable pair. No guy would even be confused again.

Except I still am. What's up with that?

Maybe I need to write in the journal again.

I wandered into my room to find that someone else had already beaten me toObi Wan(is it wrong to have already named my journal?)

"Mia?" I said loudly, my voice slightly catching in my throat. What had she seen?

She slammed the journal shut and stuck it haphazardly back on the nightstand, looking up at me with wide eyes.

"Were you just--? Did you see--" I can't talk. I can't form any kind of sentence! "Oh, God," I settled for muttering under my breath. "Jesus Christ on a cross."

"Michael, what's the matter?" she asked carefully, as if she had no idea that reading people's journals was an INVASION OF PRIVACY! I mean hell, I've kept a diary for a day and she's already reading it. Have I ever tried to read hers?

I swallowed, hard. "What did you read in there?"

"Something about Felix and lepers?"

"What the hell are you doing looking through my private things?" I cried.

"I didn't mean to!" she yelled back. "And you shouldn't just leave something like that on a nightstand. I hide mine under my mattress at night." She clapped her hands over her mouth as if she'd just exposed a national security secret. I couldn't help but laugh a little.

"I'm not going to raid your room looking for your precious diary, if that's what you think," I said with a slight smile. "I have respect for other people's property."

"Then why did you destroy Lilly's Talking Family dollhouse by submerging it in the bathtub?"

"I was only trying to clean it!" I exclaimed, picking a pillow up from the ground and tossing it at her.

She caught it neatly and bit her lip, something she always does when she's genuinly sorry about something. "I really wasn't trying to pry, Michael. So don't be all pissed at me."

I shook my head at her. "I'm not pissed. In fact, Lilly headed off with Boris and a video camera to wreak havoc (though I have a feeling Boris will cause much more trouble than she originally intended). Do you want to go get lunch somewhere?"

"It's lunchtime already?"

"Yeah, sleepy-head. Don't worry, I know how comfortable my bed is."

She threw the pillow at me as though I'd implied something I hadn't. Oh, if she only knew. "So where did you sleep? The couch?"

"Nope," I said, walking to the door. "I slept in here with you."

Not that it meant anything, though. Especially since she's with Josh anyway.


	5. Half Step

**Oh, yes! You do exist! And though this story does mirror Flamin', it'll definitely have some elements of its own and plotlines that didn't occur in the original--especially toward the end of this story.**

I can't think of anyone prettier or nicer or funnier or smarter than Thermopolis. At least not any girls.

And _still_…STILL I can't summon up any sort of desire to 'get into her pants.'

I want to. Not get in her pants, that is. I want to have that feeling. To know that I'm like my friends.

Okay, let's just say…_hypothetically_…I've got homosexual tendencies. What would happen then?

I'd…tell my parents. And they'd flip. Because all hopes of the Moscovitz name being carried on are gone.

I'd tell my friends. Felix already knows practically, but what about the other guys? They're not likely to welcome me with open arms. Especially knowing that that might arouse me.

But it's not like I'm hot for _every _guy. Trevor is my friend in the same way Mia is. Paul too!

There's just something about Felix. Obviously nothing about him that would make my dreams come true…but I digress.

What about if I came out at school? There are some gay kids there already. None who really strut their stuff on a regular basis. The 'beautiful' people make that practically impossible.

Is it completely horrific if somebody doesn't follow the same way of life you do? I mean, I don't hate Catholics. Why shouldpeople hate me?

This was all hypothetical, of course. I'm not sure…not yet. That Felix thing could've just been a fluke. I mean, could I really have gone seventeen years without knowing that I like boys?

I looked up to see Thermopolis in deep thought as well. Hopefully not about what she glimpsed in my journal.

"Thermopolis? Are you okay?"

She assured me that she was, before plunging into another, rather uncomfortable subject matter. "You've been a little quiet recently. Is everything okay?"

Well, I wanna touch my best friend in places he doesn't want me to touch him--and this and several other bits of information are leading me to believe that I might swing another way.

Instead of this outburst, which still couldn't beat The Kiss in terms of extreme idiocy, I just told her I was perfectly fine. How much further from the truth can I get?

I ignored Mia's offers of girl-talk, even though I could've really used it right then. But it's bad enough that Felix knows—let alone HOW he knows—I can't tell my sister's friend! Total suicide. The cat would be out of the closet—I mean, bag—in no time.

Mia's inquiring looks were driving me on the brink of insanity. Any minute now, my mouth would fly open and all my pervy little secrets would come flying out. But before I could incriminate myself further, I offered _her _the crying shoulder. Smooth move, if I do say so myself.

"You know you can always talk to me about it," I said, dazzling her with a smile. "If you want…"

And then, being the pal that she is, Thermopolis unintentionally provided me with a yellow brick road out of killing my brain.

Making fun of Josh Richter instead!

_Don't ask how his hair feels. Don't ask how his hair feels_.

But no, she's making the very wise decision of breaking up with that beefcake. Thank the good Lord. Maybe now I can talk to her…that is, if she doesn't breathe a word to Lilly. I couldn't take that.

What exactly would I say to her anyway? _I can't stop thinking about Brad Pitt's ass! If Humphrey Bogart ever held me in his arms and said, "Here's lookin' at you, kid," I think I would die happy._

I might have to wait till she's half-conscious before I start blabbing. At least I won't make-out with her instead of unloading my sorrows. Which just adds to my woe.

I came home that evening and locked myself in my room, as per usual, but with a much better reason this time.

Okay. I've got _Lady in Waiting_…_RAH-RAH-RAUNCHY!_...and _Debbie Does Dallas_. All borrowed from Paul. All bound to bring me around.

I've just been going through a rut. A weird little funk. It's not that I'm not interested in girls! I've just been trying to tell myself that because none of them want to be seen in public with me.

Except for my mom. And Thermopolis. And neither of them have the sort of feelings towards me that I should be having towards women in general.

This is just plain embarrassing. I watched Debbie DO DALLAS and I'm still not turned on. Not in the least! I just kind of lay there, chuckling to myself and wondering if I should straighten my hair…just to see if I'd look as good as Debbie's third conquest.

I turned off the TV and buried my face into my pillow, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

So maybe…maybe…maybe I _am_…maybe I like guys.

Would that be such a bad thing? I mean, actually admitting it to myself has got to be far better than pissing myself off all the time for not feeling otherwise.

Harder than that, though, is getting over this thing I have for Felix. It's kind of inevitable that most of the guys I'll have crushes on won't exactly feel the same way. I mean, they outnumber me in a huge way.

I'll have to get used to heartbreak, I guess. Because I'm not lying to myself any more.

"I am gay," I said, loudly and clearly, just to see what it sounded like.

My door flew open faster than you can say "Adam Brody's butt."

"What was that?" said Lilly, looking at me strangely.

"Am-scray," I said, my cheeks coloring.

Strangely enough, she complied. Is it possible my half-step out of the closet has given me some sort of magical powers?

Neat.


	6. Hippity Hop

**Um, okay. I'm not sure what happened with the reviews last chapter. A friend of Schwartzibrow swore she reviewed, but it never showed up. The only review that DID show up was from the lovely Kat.Thanks, Kat! So maybe this site will be a bit kinder next time and not detract from Schwartzibrow's ego.**

I avoided Lilly like the plague after the 'Am Scray' incident. She knows I hate Pig Latin...ever since she used it on me for three months and I couldn't figure it out for the life of me.

But lucky for me though, she's been pretty busy with Boris anyway, so she hasn't had much time for me and my issues.

Speaking of my issues, I found a pamphlet stuck on a bulletin board outside a music shop downtown this afternoon. It read:

**Hippity Hop, an all male, all fun place to be!**

Like a gay bar!

Now I KNOW I'm not ready for that (and not only because the best resembling fake ID I've managed to score has a picture of a rather portly Asian gentleman on it), but I just thought it might be cool to hang around outside, pretending to be interested in the pavement or something, and just see what it's like.

There's no harm in that, is there?

And my interest in seeing a place like this in no way solidifies what I said aloud to myself earlier. I was merely seeing how it sounded to myself.

And I'm not at all sure how I feel about how it sounded…

So I'll check out that bar later.

"Hey, Michael," Lilly said, coming into my room where I'm playing with new layouts for CracKing on my computer. And no, there will be no nude male backgrounds, thank you very much.

"Yeah?"

"Have you got a minute? I thought we could talk…We hardly ever talk anymore."

Uh oh, here it comes. The 'Talk'. Questions like, "Why have you been acting weird lately?" and "Can I have my strawberry moisturiser back?"

"Uh," I stood up quickly. I am in no way ready to discuss this with Lilly, of all people. "Actually, Lilly, I'm just heading out. I've got somewhere to be."

No time like the present to check out that bar, huh?

"Oh, okay, well maybe later," she said, backing out of my room. "Maybe I'll hang out with Boris today then."

"Yeah, you do that. I'll see ya round."

I grabbed my keys and wallet and skedaddled for the exit.

I got no further than the lobby before running into Thermopolis, who announced some excellent news. Unfortunately, it had nothing to do with that rumour I heard about Chris Klein and Katie Holmes breaking up (purely because I used to watch Dawson's religiously and don't want anyone hurting cute little Joey, of course), but she dumped Josh!

Finally! She is free of that perfect-looking, straight A-scoring athlete…Why was he bad news again?

Oh right, because he's Josh Richter, that's why. And that loser is no where near perfect enough for Mia. She deserves so much more.

To celebrate, we snuggled down in the couch and watched Moulin Rouge. There's nothing quite like Ewan Mc Greggor prancing around and singing, even if you do like the ladies.

Ya know, Nicole Kidman is a fine piece of real estate. Or however the lingo goes.

And the costumes in this movie really bring out her best features. She's got great calves and…Wait a second, am I sounding like a guy? I mean, like a girl-liking guy?

Halleluiah! Praise the Lord! Clearly, I am not a Jude Law worshipper. And all it took was Nicole and her diamante studded dresses.

…Is diamante a word I should know?

No matter! Obviously I am just a well versed, girl-liking guy!

"Michael?" Mia whispered.

Lost in thought about my new found information, I ignored her, choosing to rub my foot against hers instead.

"Michael!" she said again, louder.

"Mia, I'm trying to watch---"

To my great surprise, she didn't let me finish my sentence.

She must have cottoned onto my girl-loving vibes, because she kissed me. Completely out of the blue, just kissed me.

I guess it's good to know that maybe I really am the only one noticing things different about myself lately. Obviously Thermopolis has no idea what runs through my mind.

Surprised by the kiss, I did what any normal guy would do, I pulled back.

Okay, so maybe normal guys iwouldn't /ipull back, but Mia's my friend, and the kiss was unexpected, how can I not pull back? It doesn't mean anything! That I pulled back, I mean.

She looked horrified. More scared than she was when Lilly made her watch Pet Semetary when they were ten. And I felt bad for her.

My eyed fleeted quickly back towards the TV screen where Nicole and Ewan were dancing.

_I am not gay, I am not gay._

Closing my eyes, I moved in to kiss her again. There's no harm in exploring all possibilities, right?

A few minutes later and I didn't feel so optimistic about the kiss. If she actually likes me like that, then there IS harm in kissing her just to explore the possibilities from my point of view. That's wrong. And besides, I just wasn't 'feeling it', ya know? I had to end it.

Telling her I needed to think, I broke the kiss off and escaped into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.


	7. How Nice

I never thought Mia Thermopolis would be my first kiss (heterosexual, at least)…besides Lauren Summers, and I was freaking FIVE.

But in all seriousness, a lip-lock with my little sister's best friend was not in the cards. My Tarot cards, that is. I'm also apparently not supposed to smoke near banana stands if I want to be a successful grocer.

Which I don't.

I can't just deny that the Thermopolips came right at me, with full intent to turn me on.

And I can't deny that her endeavor failed miserably.

It was nice…I guess. But what _sort _of nice?

**Edna Mae: And then Mabel says, she says to me, "Of course Ed skinned me a tater!" Isn't that just the cat's meow? I always have the most wonderful time settin' on her porch.**

**Mary Lou: How nice.**

Maybe I'm bitter. But can I help being a little angsty when I don't the teensiest bit of a tingle from a big wet one…planted by a member of the opposite sex?

It was nice in the way _It's a Wonderful Life _is. Not one erotic moment. At least not one that gets to _me_. Which is kind of the main problem here.

I've got to stop calling it a problem. Being homophobic would be like…fearing my own shadow. And I happen to think my shadow portrays my hips in a rather forgiving manner.

Sunrise came after hours spent aimlessly…showers…reflection scrutinizing…crunches…experimental flat-ironing…blinking…breathing…scraping off the polish I painted on my nails in a particularly weak moment…

The bounce was noticeably out of my step as I snuck into Lilly's room, and I'm sure it's not just a result of my sleepless night.

Lilly was already in the kitchen puttering around, I knew, so it was perfectly safe to tip-toe inside and have a private conversation with Thermopolis.

Just not a _**private** conversation _if you catch my drift. And few seem to.

I watched as Thermopolis blinked herself out of the haze of exhaustion. She's got fairly nice eyes. And the lips (which were pressed so lovingly against mine not twelve hours ago) aren't shabby. They look even better when glossed.

But they don't quite do it for me in the same way Felix's chapped lower lip and green eyes (flecked with gold) do.

GET….OVER…FELIX…_MORON_.

"Sorry about last night," I said quickly to Mia, before the much-needed slapping of myself could commence. "I was just a…little confused." When HAVEN'T I been confused lately?

Strangely enough, the only moment that came to mind was my little confrontation with Felix. The homoerotic one. The climax of this whole mess (in more ways than one).

"I didn't realize you liked me that way."

Mia was speedy to apologize as well. "But I just thought...um…_you _liked _me_."

I guess I'm the only one not buying my shit any more.

But I couldn't exactly clue Mia into that one. Isn't that what Martha was tossed into the slammer for? Insider trading!

I may have some sweet decorating tips…but I'm not about to torch my life (it is growing quite flamboyant). "I _do _like you, Mia. But…"

Don't say but! I HATE big but's!

"But what?" asked Mia, her well-groomed (unlike my half-ass job) brows arching in confusion.

I tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear and grinned somewhat sadly. "I don't know."

"So what now then?" Mia asked after a nail-bitingly long pause.

Chewing on the side of my lip, I racked my brain for a plan…a diversion for her until I'm fully ready to divulge.

"How about we just see what happens?"

Brilliant, Moscovitz! Things happen for YEARS! And that's precisely how long it might take.

Thankfully, my course of action seemed agreeable to my unsuspecting gal pal.

I offered to cook her a meal (but not too good of a meal…otherwise that might lead to questions…and questions might lead to answers involving the words 'Julia Child'…and then those promised years I just attained would go up in flames…_literally_).

I think I'm getting quite good at this 'in the closet' thing. Maybe there's some kind of underground magazine I could write for. "How to Get a Beard Incognito!"

The thing is, I've got one of those ridiculous consciences that tend to fuck with all great masterminds. It's not that I want to _use _Mia. I just want to use my mad skillz in a desperate attempt to convince everyone that I'm not a fan of male genitalia.

And if those skillz include wooing a sweet girl-next-door type, then so be it.

Sooner or later, I'll have to learn to handle little displays of affection she throws my way. Like this evening, for instance, Mia decided that our 'happening' for that night would be holding hands.

I can do that! Palm-to-palm with my homegirl Thermopolis…it's just like a lengthy handshake!

And while I'm doing the Hokey Pokey of handshakes with Mia, I'm totally free to ogle Johnny Depp's magnificent swagger. Who's the wiser!

I am! Teachers always muttered angrily that I'm a genius, but I hadn't fully realized the benefits till now.

Lilly excused herself in order to refill on popcorn. That's when things went a bit downhill.

Without Lilly, I had no excuse not to engage in sexual contact with my beard…_girlfriend_. Friend with benefits?

Except the benefit isn't what most might assume…in fact, the only benefit that could come from this is people thinking that Mia _is _my girlfriend. So that term doesn't really go up our alley.

Isn't that cute? We've got an alley together.

Or so it seems…wink wink.

I wonder if Felix would let me hold his hand if we were in an alley. No one would suspect a thing, because it's OUR ALLEY!

Maybe this girl from Trinity is his beard! Maybe he thinks I kissed him by accident, and that's why he didn't immediately succumb to my advances!

And then Mia had to jump into my very wrong, very deluded fantasies to kiss me on the cheek.

Believe me…bearded cheeks don't feel quite so good against my own.

Not that Thermopolis has facial hair. I'm being poetic, damnit.

"Maybe we shouldn't," I said, feeling squeamish. "Lilly'll come back any second."

Slightly disgruntled, Mia folded her hands into her lap and glared at the screen.

Which left me fully unable to enjoy Orlando's delicate features.


	8. Chess Club

**So few reviews. So sad...**

I saw Felix on Sunday afternoon. I was walking home from the library and he was entering the movies with some girl. It must be his hot date from Trinity. Obviously things went well with them on our date.

Well, good on him. I'm happy for him.

Damnit, no, I'm not and we all know it. And by 'we' I mean me, myself, and I. Oh, and my journal. I can't keep secrets from that thing, it all comes pouring out of me!

Anyway, he saw me as he was climbing the steps, I was just staring at him, my mouth a little open because he was wearing a cream jacket I hadn't seen before. On closer look I'm sure it'd completely show off the colour of his eyes…Those gold flecks are to DIE for…

…And when his eyes briefly locked with mine, I knew he was panicking. I could see it from a mile away, and I was only a few feet below him.

He grabbed the girl's hand and skipped up the last couple of steps.

And I resumed walking home, now with a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Clearly my friendship with Felix is over. If he was okay with my…recent developments, he'd have stopped to chat and introduce me to the girlfriend. Or at least throw a smile my way. But no, the only expression Felix showed was one of disgust. With me.

Great. Just great. I always aim to disgust people.

When I got in the limo next to Lilly this morning, I barely looked at Thermopolis. I hate 'seeing how things go' with her, because I know they aren't going anywhere at all! I just can't work up the guts to admit it to her, let alone admit it to myself.

But then when we got out of the limo, after Lilly had run off to the arms of Boris, leaving me and Mia alone to walk in together, I saw Felix again, and I couldn't help it.

If he can be fine with holding hands with some girl, then I can do the same!

I grabbed Thermopolis's hand tightly and looked away from him, after making sure he was looking at me, of course. And he was. Boy, was he.

As soon as we reached her locker I dropped her hand like a hot potato.

"Sorry about that," I muttered, once again feeling disgusted with myself for using her to get to Felix. I started to walk off, my head a little droopy.

Unfortunately I didn't get very far before Mia called me back and told me we 'need to talk.'

That's never a good thing to hear. Even when you're not really dating. Awkward conversations are always better left unsaid, I say…Until you get to that point where your head is about to explode if you don't get something off your chest, which looks like the stage she's at right now.

But I won't have this conversation at school. I offered to drop by the Loft after princess lessons instead.

She didn't look too pleased to have to hold off the conversation, but she complied. I hastily got out of there before she changed her mind.

I got home and dad was in the kitchen reading the New York Times.

"What are you doing home so early?" I asked him, opening the fridge and pulling out the milk.

"No clients. It seems people don't have so many problems about this time of year. Something to do with the weather, I'd wager. Your mother's home too."

"Oh." I think I've got enough problems for everyone. If anyone wants some, I'd be happy to offload them.

"What about you, son?" he asked, putting the paper down and picking up his coffee mug.

"What about me?"

"Any problems you want to talk about? Got something on your mind?" He raised an eyebrow at me, suggesting he knew something I didn't.

I pretended to think about it. "Um, I don't think so."

"No? No problems with school. Or _girls_?" He put an added emphasis on the word 'girls'.

"Uh, well…If you must know…" There was no way I was spilling what was actually bothering me, but I find that the best way to get psychoanalyst parentals off your back is to throw them off the scent. Works every time.

"Yes?" he asked, leaning towards me.

"I was thinking of joining the chess club at school. But I don't know if I'll have enough time for it. I'll have to think about it."

"Oh," he said, clearly disappointed. "Well, yes, give it some thought. Anything else on your mind?"

"Nope," I said, putting my empty glass down. "That about covers it."

I skipped out of the room before he could say anything else. Then I headed over to Thermopolis's.

She was in the middle of a cleaning spree, so I jumped in and gave her a hand. Something I don't think she was too happy about. Why, I don't know. It's not like an extra hand never helps.

And besides, if we were cleaning then we weren't talking about things. Which is a good thing.

But finally, the cleaning ended and she sat us down at the kitchen table, now cleaned spotlessly.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" I asked, as if I have no idea.

She looked uncomfortable."Remember how the other night, I k-kissed you and…"

"Right, that. Sorry, I've just had a lot on my mind."

"So you forgot about it?" she replied, looking a little hurt.

I wish. "No…it's not that. I was just kind of confused by the whole thing…I still am. You like me?"

She nodded slowly, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. It almost broke my heart to see her like this.

To soften the blow, I put my hand over hers. "I like you too, Thermopolis. A lot. But the thing is…"

There I go using the word 'but' again. Why do I do this? But is only a nice word when it has two t's and refers to the slim behind of someone cute, not like a cigarette butt.

"It wouldn't be fair of me to date you…because…" I took a deep breath to ready myself. "I don't know if having a girlfriend is the thing for me right now."

There. I said it. I broke her little heart. But at least I didn't let this continue any longer.

I apologised and squeezed her hand sympathetically, but she'd heard enough. She jumped up, ran to her room, and refused to talk to me anymore.

What an ass. Me, I mean, not her.


	9. Poetic Finish

**This is getting slightly pathetic.**

**- - -**

You'd think I would've learned after getting my own heart cruelly smashed into a thousand tiny pieces. You'd think I would know better than to lead someone on purely for my own gain.

And you'd think I would've just holed up somewhere (like, say, the cozy little nook where I keep my clothes and shoes?) and died, not only putting myself out of misery, but the whole world too.

But I'm hopeless, aren't I? I've managed to make my own pain someone else's. What's that they say again? Misery loves company?

I never thought of myself as a 'cliché' type of dude, even though there are times when I desperate wish I was.

But now…NOW I've decided to be like any old schmuck. And I went and broke the heart of one of the sweetest people I know.

I don't know what she sees in me, though. All I see are the stupid, uneven eyebrows or the matted curls or the misshapen, hairy, hairy legs.

Well…even if I can't remedy some situations, I might as well repair the others.

It occurred to me as I sat on the edge of the bathtub with my Gillette, my iPod blasting old Cyndi Lauper favorites, that I might want a cover story in case someone happens to pop in unexpected while I'm alleviating myself of this horrid mess.

I've got it! I'm joining the track team! Granted, I despise breaking a sweat—but it'll hold up until I'm ready to spill the beans on the boy-lovin' thing.

Just like that other little falsehood of mine…the one that's got a certain freshman in tears a few blocks over?

I suck. I really, really suck.

I'm self-absorbed, stupid, lazy, lame, retarded, unwanted, unwelcome, unpopular, and add 'gay' to that, and I'm all set.

I don't even know why I bother. The minute I open up, everyone's going to hate me more than ever, and I'll be referred to in hushed voices as "Michael, the guy I'm not going within twenty feet of in the locker room."

No one's ever going to love me, are they? _I'm _never going to love me at this rate.

How is it that Josh Richter has tons of girls infatuated with him? The hair? CREEPY. And believe me, he won't be taking Mother Teresa's place any time soon.

I wish I knew what the secret formula was. You know, to get people to like you. I think I will go lock myself in my closet and light a match, a somewhat poetic departure, if you ask me.

Just let me finish up this leg.

So I didn't off myself. Yeah, I know, millions in Japan are squealing in relief and delight.

But that doesn't change the fact that I've never been more miserable in my entire existence. Not even that time Felix made me sit through Rambo III.

Speaking of Felix, he totally blocked me online. To think I crashed and burned that relationship in all of five seconds…just think what would happen if hundreds of people knew!

As it is, there's only one person who really deserves to know the truth. Who I think could handle it. Who could maybe even help me through this muck.

And that person would be my lovely beard. But ya know what? My shaving yesterday extended past my legs (I'm confined to sweatpants until my dad goes blind)…Mia's no longer my fag hag. My cover-up. My excuse not to expose myself (not in that way…the excuse there is kind of obvious).

Not that she wants anything to do with me. I don't blame her. I don't blame anyone, really.

I had to practically sprint to reach her in the hallway this morning, which is as close to the track team as I'm getting.

"We need to talk," I said in a low voice, once I'd gained her attention. "I feel like I owe you an explanation."

She shook her head, her freshly shampooed bob swishing from left to right. "You don't owe me anything Michael," she said in a slightly quavering voice. "And you explained yourself just fine last night. You don't like me that way, and that's fine."

I don't like _any _girls that way, which in most circles isn't too fine at all.

But I begged for an audience with her anyway. Puppy-dog eyes…full-blast.

It's a shame I'm not into that sort of thing, because Thermopolis really does look adorable when she's thinking intently about something. "Okay," she said finally. "Come on."

I wasn't quite as relieved as you might imagine, as that was just the first part of the battle. The whole outing myself thing was yet another hill I had to mount.

With growing anxiety, I noted we had quite a while before the bell rang. I don't want 'quite a while'! I just wanna spit it out—"I'm GAY!"—and then dash out of there as quickly as humanly possible.

Once I'd shut the door of an empty classroom on me and Mia, I could already feel my knees trembling beneath me.

"So what is it?" she asked impatiently, apparently oblivious to my twitching.

"I'm sure you've noticed how distant I've been lately…" I began. How distant could I be in about five seconds? 100 yards? A couple of floors?

"Well, I've been going through some stuff," I managed. "Some…issues."

"Michael," she huffed, glancing at her watch. I don't blame her for being annoyed with me. At least she was taking that road, instead of the one I was dragging myself along with Felix (well, not _with _him). The one where I have XXX-rated dreams about him…the one where I don't want to be around him as much as he doesn't want to be around me…because I think I'll pounce. "I know this. It doesn't take a genius to figure out. Just tell me what it is."

If only it were that simple…"Well, you see…it's hard to just admit this to anyone. I told Felix about it, and he freaked out on me."

Except I didn't really tell Felix. He guessed. In fact, if it weren't for Felix, I might've never known I was into dudes. What a pal.

Mia was looking at me with the weirdest expression. She couldn't possibly already know…could she?

What if Felix was telling people! What if they were already whispering about me? Do my parents know? What about Lilly? I'm sure it's already reached the elderly Moscovitzes down in Florida. I'm never gonna get a Christmas present again. I'll spend the holidays alone in the streets, since I don't have a nice, warm closet any more.

"Oh, God, Michael," said Mia, already confirming my worst fears. "I know what this is about."

"You…you do?"

Just make it quick and painless…that's all I ask.

"Of course I do," she said matter-of-factly. "You…you like Lana."

HOLY SHIT. Thermopolis' idiocy saves the day once more! "What?" I choked out.

She took a deep breath. "You like Lana. But you're too afraid to admit it because you think that your friends, like Felix, will think you're a sell out or whatever. That's why you hate Josh so much. Because Lana's in love with him. Although why you didn't encourage me to stay with him, so you could have Lana for yourself is beyond me. You could have just..."

This had to stop. I was gonna puke if I heard another word in reference to me crushing on that whoracious bitch.

"Mia…I _don't _like Lana."

"You don't?" she echoed, seemingly flabbergasted. "Then what is it?"

Oh, God. The moment of truth. I'm gonna do it. I won't back down. I'll just…say it.

Did I say it?

Judging by Mia's expression, I haven't even opened my mouth.

"Okay, I think I'm just going to come out…" Good start. "And say it. I think I'm…batting for the other team."

Now I was most definitely sure I'd said it. And that it didn't bode too well with Miss Mia.

- -

**Twelve chapters to go, I believe.**


	10. They Should Make a Manual

**Whooo, some actual reviews! To those of you who asked, yes, Michael is supposed to be gay in this story. Schwartzibrow wrote another one (entitled Flamin') that is basically this from Mia's POV. Both have several different subplots. And this story will extend past where Flamin' ended.**

There. I said it.

Well, I didn't actually use the word 'gay', but what I said pretty much speaks for itself, right? I mean, Mia's not going to think that 'batting for the other team' means I'm suddenly trying out for the Red Sox instead of the Yankees, does it? Puh-lease. Me and sports, I don't think so.

She still hasn't said anything. WHY HASN'T SHE SAID ANYTHING?

Frustrated , I started pacing the room. I really want to run for the door and head for the hills, but I can't. You can't just tell someone something like this and dash away. I settled for almost tearing my hair out instead. Surely starting from bald wouldn't be any worse than the last half-assed attempt at a hair cut I gave myself.

When I could take it no longer, I sat in the chair opposite her and asked her to say something. I need to know that she's okay with this. If she freaks out on me like Felix did, I don't know what I'll do with myself.

"You're gay," she said blandly, completely stating the obvious.

I wanted to laugh out loud at the way she said it. But I knew this wasn't the time for jokes. I can try out that Will and Grace routine that I spent all night thinking about with her later.

"Yeah, I think so."

She didn't seem convinced though. In fact, she asked me to compile a list. So I thought back to my journal, and thought what would it say about me if it could talk? I came up with:

1. I can't get it up for Sarah Michelle Gellar (and have you seen her?)  
2. I don't watch The O.C. for the anorexic girl (or the realistic plotlines)  
3. I watched Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and heard my calling (sort of kidding)  
4. I've had one girlfriend and I only went out with her because her dad owned this venue and she had tickets and backstage passes to the upcoming Weezer show  
5. I kissed one of the coolest, prettiest girls I know and didn't feel a thing

After saying the fifth one I looked at her pointedly, but I think it took a second to sink in that I meant her. Who else does she think I've been kissing lately (apart from Felix, which she doesn't know about)?

I put my hand over hers and we locked eyes. "I swear to God, Mia, you had me doubting my homosexuality just as I had sold myself on it. But it was just friendly instincts, you know? And I mean it when I say that you're one of my best friends. I wouldn't have told just anybody all of this."

Except Felix. But ya know, I didn't mean to tell him, it just sort of...happened.

But then, because obviously I'm an asshole, she started to cry. Not only did I break her heart, but I made her cry too. What kind of an insensitive homosexual am I? I thought it was like, against the laws of nature for us to be this cruel.

As the mascara ran unattractively down her face, I said, "Mia, sweetheart. Please don't cry because of this. I'm not worth it, believe me."

The scary thing is, I'm really not. It's not just a line to make her feel better, it's the cold, hard truth. YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her tears away and smudging the mascara even more. If I wasn't so concerned with her happiness right now, I'd be cringing and whipping out a bottle of make up remover...Not that I actually have any on me or anything. "It's really not that big of a deal."

Yeah right. Girls don't cry when they have mascara on unless it's for a really good reason. Like finding out the guy you like is gay. "Are you sure?" I asked tentatively. "Because Felix already completely wigged out on me…and I have a feeling you're about to do the same. I mean, if you don't want to talk to me any more, I won't be surprised or angry. I understand, really."

To my delight, she didn't nod and run away, telling me she never wanted to speak to me again. Instead, she told me she's my friend and would never do that. How 'bout that?

When we finally left the room, we parted with a friendly hug. I didn't think a kiss on the cheek was appropriate, given that I was trying to sell my homosexuality to her.

Though I think I've sold it to myself.

-

I arrived at Computer class a few minutes late because I'd been talking with Mia. The only seat left was next to Felix.

I sat down hesitantly and glanced sideways at him. He didn't say anything.

I've totally been avoiding sitting anywhere near him recently, because I don't want to freak him out any more. If I'm lucky, and if I pray to that Buddah statue I brought the other day when I was feeling particularly low, he may just come back to me. Maybe not as someone who shares my passion for fashion, but at least as my friend. I miss him. And not just because he has a cute tush.

Halfway through class I decided to test the boundries of my plan for Felix coming back to me.

I started off slow. "Can I borrow a pencil?" I asked as I pushed my pencil case off the desk.

He passed one over without looking up.

"Thanks."

A minute later I returned it. Still no response from him. No, "You're welcome," or "No worries," at all.

Maybe I need to ask something that actually requires a response.

"Uh, Felix? How do I bring the grid back onto the screen?"

I already knew the button of course.

He looked at me fleetingly, his expression was clearly not impressed with me. Then he leaned over and brought my screen up with the press of a single button before going back to his own computer screen.

"Felix?" I said softly. "Are you going to ignore me forever?"

It took him a minute, but he finally looked up. "I just...I don't know what to say to you anymore, Michael. I'm sorry."

I nodded. I can understand that. I don't like it, but I don't want to make any one uncomfortable, and if he feels that way, then so be it.

"It's not that I'm..." He lowered his voice. "Homophobic or anything. But I just don't know how to act or what to say after what happened."

"Right," I said brightly. "They should make a manual or something, haha." My attempt at joking about the situation didn't go over to well with Felix. He just glared at me, and Josh, on Felix's other side, looked at me weirdly too.

I hope he didn't hear the rest of our conversation!

Ah, what am I worried about? All Josh ever thinks about is girls and his Gameboy. I'm sure my chatter with Felix was nothing that caught his attention.

**Just click, then critique.**


	11. Amigos Jag

God, what a relief!

Just to actually tell someone everything that's been gnawing at me for weeks is such a huge weight off my soul. Thermopolis is definitely not the sort to jerk about. She's the type of girl you could take shopping with you and she wouldn't embarrass you by her fashion-omniscience, but she dresses cutely and could totally find a nice top for you. She's the kind that'll watch My Best Friend's Wedding over and over again and not bitch about it like some fathers I might mention.

In other words, she's my new best friend. Not that Felix is so godawful (in fact, the problem is that he…isn't), but I get the feeling we need to chill apart for a while before things are fly between us again.

You know I'm cheerful when I start busting out the boss '90s lingo. Screw it, I've seen Clueless 54 times.

Still, Mia's definitely useful to have around. Not because I'm planning to use her again—no, sir. I want her _friendship_.

At this point, I'm open to any sort of friendship at all. I was surfing chatrooms last night, but even in the stupid AMERICAN IDOL chat they just kept going on about webcams and "nude pix."

So not my terrain.

Also, people were none too receptive to me sadly singing 'A Moment Like This' (in capital letters, of course).

I guess I was wrong to think there's someone out there remotely akin to me—even out there on the freaking worldwide web.

So Mia is just fine. I'm not settling! She's perfectly awesome. A little peppy, yeah. But don't I need that spunk right about now?

I also need a friend. Badly.

One thing I won't let myself hope for is…well…I guess I can talk about it just _once_—but that's IT! After this I'm completely erasing this whole concept from my already heavily-censored memory…

I want a boyfriend. GOD, do I want one!

Someone who won't totally flip out on me because I want to kiss him every now and then; someone who thinks _I'm _sexy! ME! With the _eyebrows_!

But alas, this is damn near impossible. The one guy I can picture myself in would rather see himself with someone a bit more developed in the chest area.

No slight against Thermopolis intended.

So I figure the only thing I can do right now is take solace in the fact that not everyone hates me this way. No matter what everyone else says when this eventually comes out into the open—when _I _eventually come out—I'll still be able to hang with Thermopolis.

Hell, she's handled Lilly as a best friend for fourteen years. She can definitely take one very pathetic, very alone, newly homosexual teenage boy.

Right?

It was definitely nerve-wracking to see Thermopolis again after The Confession. But I tried to keep as cool as possible while sliding into the seat beside her in G&T.

"Hey," I said, employing a smooth tone to the best of my ability.

"Hey," she breathed, avoiding my eyes.

_Don't ditch me, you wonderful, sweet, slightly Amazonian with a dash of schizophrenic, teenage princess…_

"Do you want help with your Algebra?" I offered, the sweetest smile imaginable decorating my features.

She accepted, albeit reluctantly, and we got down to it.

But I was even worse than Thermopolis usually is, stumbling over theorems and screwing up simple addition. Once I was sure no one else was listening, I made a stab at conversation. Bending my head low over the notebook, I stammered, "I-I know things are a little weird right now, but I wanna thank you for not making them too weird. And to thank you for not running off and freaking out like some people."

Except Thermopolis had seemed to sincerely enjoy any kisses I gave her. And me…not so much. So maybe the situations aren't so similar.

To my surprise, her face eased into a small smile. "Yeah, well, you know me," she giggled. "I don't freak out that easily."

I chuckled in relief. Jokes! Jokes are excellent! I've got some superb knock-knocks to offer up once we really get the ball rolling on this amigos jag.

In a fit of ecstasy, I squeezed Mia's slightly bony knee under the table. "You're so great," I gushed. "You know…" Now seemed about the time to tell her what she obviously wanted to hear. I mean, it was still the truth…just stuff I had gotten over already. "I really wish I felt something for you. If I weren't…you know, you'd be the first girl I'd wanna take out."

See? Complete fact. I honestly wish I could have happiness with Thermopolis instead of eternal loneliness with my poster of Enrique.

"Thanks, Michael," she whispered, glancing warily over her shoulder at Lilly. "That means a lot."

Good. I do make a good friend. Especially when I don't have the urge to pin said friend against friend's Mario sheets and do certain things that friend has absolutely zero interest in doing.

Now that I think about it, that wasn't one of my better ideas. And I've had some pretty choice ones.

Michael's Brilliant Plans

(that he is only compiling in a last-ditch attempt to boost his self-esteem, which is waning rapidly)

1) Disposable puppies

Not throw them away, of course! But I like puppies, and I like old dogs. So can't I just drop them off at an extraordinarily daycare in-between? It's a wonder my parents didn't pick up on this long ago. But then again, they possess none of my genius.

2) The sun is trying desperately to communicate with us

So you know how we've got the light spectrum? Well, on the left side we have radio waves. Ya know, light we aren't able to see, but we hear it? Which, obviously, means that the light we CAN see must retain some quality of sound that's just not picked up by our eardrums. Therefore, Mr. Golden Sun has been screaming shit for ages and we're just like, "Let's get tan, broseph."

Hence, sunburns.

3) Transmogrifier

Okay, so I stole this one from Calvin and Hobbes. But I should've written that whole series anyway, so I'm thinking plagiarism doesn't apply here. That said, I think I'd make a brilliant Rachel on _Friends_.


	12. Ultimate Man

**Here ya go, jack...**

Thank the Lord for Thermopolis. Once again., she has saved my sanity. Tonight she is saving me from microwave mac and cheese and listening to Lilly waffle on about Boris and how great he is. How she can see past his food-filled retainer and tucked in sweater is beyond me. Sometimes I doubt we're even related.

So after bidding my slightly neurotic sister a fond farewell, I headed over to the Loft for some actual stimulating conversation and hopefully a better meal.

When Mia opened the door I let out a whistle. She was wearing a tiny slip dress, and I was wearing my old jeans, a Van Morrison shirt and my worn out Converses. Not exactly in the same field as Mia.

Was I supposed to dress up? I thought this was a casual night of movies and food, not like a dress up thing. If I'd known I could have worn that new shirt with the ruffles I got the other day. It's a little out there, but totally cool. It's retro.

"Um, my mom was cleaning out her closet and had me try it on and I just haven't taken it off yet," she muttered, probably feeling embarrassed.

I smiled at her and contemplated going home to grab my shirt, but I don't think she's ready for it yet. In fact, I don't think the world is ready for it. "It looks nice, but you don't want to be uncomfortable watching the movie, do you? You might get chilly."

She ran to get changed and returned a minute later wearing sweats. Much better. After all, it's not as if she has to impress me or anything.

She led me into the kitchen where a plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a pitcher of milk were waiting. YUM, I love dipping these sandwiches in milk. Sure, it's messy, but so yummy. Lilly and I used to do it as kids, and I'm sort of yearing for the good ol' days recently. Call me nostalgic.

We brought the food into the TV room and she announced we'd be watching Return of the Jedi. See why I can't bear to lose this girl? She knows me too well. And she totally caters to my needs. In all ways but one, really.

"Ooh, Harrison,"I said approvingly. "Good choice."

She looked at me strangely for a second, probably because I'd licked my lips as I'd said 'Ooh Harrison.' Maybe I should lay low the wholeboy-lovin' thing while she still gets used to it.

The movie started and I realised WHY I love this movie so. Two words, or rather three if you include 'and'. So three words: Luke and Han.

Ah, it's like a double fest of the ultimate man! And there's LIGHT SABERS too!

The only thing that comes close to this is Pirates of the Carribean, with Johnny and Orlando. But sword fights just don't pass muster.

Finally though, the movie ended and the credits started to roll. Time to tell Mia again how much she means to me. After all, I can't have her thinking I don't appreciate her and her friendship.

"Mia…" I said, placing my hand gently on her knee. "You've been so cool about all this. I mean, I've only told you and Felix, but I guess I've learned who my true friends are, right?"

She nodded. "Wanna come see my Buffy action figures?"

FINALLY! Someone who REALLY speaks my language! Is this girl perfect, or what? It really is too bad I don't feel more than friendship for her.

We walked into her room but she didn't turn on the lights, claiming they're burnt out. Fair enough. I know I can never be bothered changing my light globes. I use the pink glow from my night lamp to see by until I can be bothered...or until I can coax my dad into changing them for me.

I've never been much of a 'man about the house.'

"So, where are the action figures?" I asked, looking blindly around the dim room. I saw her lamp and wondered why she didn't turn that on, but it came suddenly clear when she stood in front of me and kissed me, pushing me gently down onto the bed behind me.

I can't say that I had the noblest of reactions. I should have pushed her away straight away, I should have made it more clear that I LIKE BOYS. But I didn't. Instead, I let her kiss me, and even kissed back admittedly, for about a minute.

I don't know why I did it. I guess it just felt nice to have a pair of lips pressed up against mine. And Mia does have soft lips.

When I finally came to my senses though, I pulled away and asked what the hell she was doing.

"Uh…" she started stammering as I sat up, pushing her off me.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" I asked, comprehension dawning on me.

"Um, maybe?"

Holy shit. This is so not good. "I thought we were clear on everything."

"We are, it's just…"

"It's just what?" I asked, still trying to understand where I went wrong. Did I not thank her enough for being SUPPORTIVE of me. Maybe I didn't make ENOUGH gay comments.

"Well, maybe this gay thing is just in your head?"

IN MY HEAD? I WISH! If this was all in my head then I'd still have a best friend. I'd still have the hair on my legs and not have to wear pants all the time!

"Mia, I'm just now starting to accept this. Do you think I'm pretending to be homosexual as a joke? For shits and giggles? I didn't lose my best friend for fun. And I'm not freakin' depressed all the time because it amuses me. This is real and I thought you understood."

Her eyes filled with tears and I almost choked out a few myself. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"So you planned all this?"

She nodded and I groaned inwardly. "But why?"

Is she trying to ungay me?

"Because I still like you and…and…I don't know."

"It just seems like every time we hang out, you feel the need to kiss me. And every time I have to turn you down. And I hate upsetting you. But you're not making any of this any easier on me, Thermopolis."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, shuffling her feet. "I…wasn't thinking. Of you, that is. I mean, I kept telling myself that I really liked you and we had to be together, but if I had actually stopped and thought of what was best for you, I probably wouldn't have gone through with it."

"Probably?" Great. "Why do you like me so much anyway? I'm not Josh Richter."

"Well, I've decided Josh isn't my type."

"Mine either."

She smiled and sat next to me on the bed. We got to talking, and everything seemed okay in the end. I certainly think I've scared her off trying to seduce me any time soon. Especially with that comment about George Clooney I made. I think I scarred her for life.

**Review!**


	13. Bust a Sag

Until I'm fully sure things are crystal clear with Thermopolis, I don't think I can handle being around her. Or talking to her, knowing that she's only talking back to get into my pants. Truth be told, I feel a bit used. I mean, here I was thinking she was so great and awesome and snazzy. I even gushed about her in my journal, told Lilly what a cool girl that Thermopolis is, AND burned her a CD filled with all the music I've been pretending not to like, entitled 'Michael's Ultimate Dance Party Hits.'

But then it quickly became apparent why Mia wasn't fazed by my confession.

BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T BELIEVE ME.

Don't I feel important?

So, as you can imagine, all that muck I thought I had finally dug myself out of went and caved in on me again.

You know what, though? I think I'm being melodramatic. I mean, sure, Mia made a mistake. But she did seem sincerely sorry. And once we got to talking, and I mentioned my fondness for Brandon Boyd's ass, she seemed pretty okay with my homosexuality.

Wanna know another strange thing? Of course you do, because you're me. And I control you most of the time…

_I'm _okay with my homosexuality.

Before Saturday, I was kind of embarrassed by the whole situation. It wasn't just my sexual orientation—it was a curse and a hindrance upon my ability to pimp it like all the other guys. Whatever that means.

But once Mia started questioning my status, it hit me that there's no question about it. Well, I already knew that bit—especially after my porno experiment—but I didn't know that I could accept that information quite calmly. Even smiling a bit, if you can believe it.

Things aren't so horrific after all.

School Monday morning shook my little foundation just a bit. Added to the prospect of seeing Mia again was being surrounded by guys I now knew I wanted, and wasn't shy about this desire.

Maybe I should come out. I mean, I've gotta come clean some time if I ever want to wear boxer shorts around the house again.

Mia trailed me into school, calling my name with increasing despair.

Oh, Christ. Love moans.

"What, Thermopolis?" I said when she fell into step beside me, my tone a bit more brittle than I intended.

She had the decency to look chastised, which softened me just a tad. "I…I want to talk. Can we talk?"

If "Wanna see my Buffy figurines?" means "Let's swap spit, baby," I wonder if this translates into oral sex.

"Just talk?" I clarified quietly. "Because I don't want you getting it into your little head that we can do anything else."

She met my cold stare bravely, and I quickly checked her eyes for signs of lust. Nada.

"No, I know that," she said heavily. "And I want to apologize for it."

"You already apologized," I reminded her.

"Well, did you forgive me? Because I get the feeling that you're still mad at me. And you have every right to be, I stuffed up, and I get it. But I really am sorry."

I could tell by the big, teary, doe eyes she was flashing my way that she truly meant it. In a weird way, I could feel her pain. I mean, I had a crush on Felix and couldn't act on it because he wasn't very enthused about me jumping his bones. Same with Mia!

I think that's why we get along so well, which we do when there's not all this useless sexual tension…she's my homegirl. Fully aware of where I'm coming from. I mean, come on. We both like guys…these guys happen to be eternally unattainable…and also our names both have the letters 'M-I-A.' And if you take Mia's WHOLE name, they've both got 'M-I-A-E-L.'

If that's not X-Files-worthy, I'm not entirely sure what is.

OH.

MY.

HOWIE.

I can't breathe. I can't even really think, though I won't be cocky and say that's a huge difference from my usual routine…

There sat poor Michael, thinking he was doomed to a life of lust for his ex-buddy. And then Oprah, or whoever controls the universe, delivered a swift kick to his rather cute ass.

In the form of a total studmuffin.

Not only is his tush rival to mine, he's got the most killer eyes on the planet. Of course, they're somewhat overshadowed by his total bushman brows, which is more than slightly discouraging (think about it…_bush _and _unplucked?_ Not the best omen).

He was in my Psych class third period. I swear, when he strolled confidently into the classroom and plopped down in the seat in front of me, I just about died. His WALK has got to be the most perfect thing I've ever laid eyes on. So smooth…so sexy…so…so…

WRONG.

COMPLETELY WRONG.

Have I learned NOTHING! I mean, what would a cute, well-groomed, witty teenage boy want to do with the mistake that is Michael Moscovitz?

Especially when he can be laying girls left and right.

Just _forget _it. Haven't I cried enough lately? Sheesh.

When the bell rang, I made sure to keep my eyes averted as the new kid walked out of the room ahead of me. Except one quick peek. But what else am I supposed to salivate over in my long, spinster years?

Mia had reports of a new feller too. But his description didn't quite match that of my new object of horniness.

AGH! Don't put it like THAT!

God, I hate when I have to lay the smackdown on myself. Because then I find my overbearing and hypercritical. And those are just two more faults.

Since Mia seemed so well-informed about New Boy Dos, I decided to delve into her fountain of knowledge for some own information I shouldn't need to possess.

"I saw another new guy hanging around," I said in a completely unsuspicious manner that I really hope is endearing, because I've had to use it often. "Maybe they're related? It would be a pretty big coincidence if there were two new guys at the same time otherwise."

I didn't hear Mia's response, though, because Old Slick purposely shoved his beefy jock elbow into my gut.

"Move, fag," he barked, baring his teeth menacingly at me.

And even though we're practically the same height, I found myself cowering. "What did you say?"

He couldn't have said that…right? It wasn't possible that he had actually heard my conversation with Felix in Computer! This was all too…too _real!_ And far too soon!

Josh repeated his request, with a cutesy reference to me packing fudge or something. I'm really not hip on these sorts of derogatory terms, though I knew what he was getting at.

What EVERYONE would soon be getting at.

What was sure to haunt me for the rest of my life.

Through the crowd, I could totally see New Boy watching me intently, his beautiful eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

Maybe he comes from the South or something. Probably isn't used to the big-city bullying and the big-city closet gays and the big-city whimpering of one confused Michael Moscovitz.

"What? He is gay," Josh chuckled in response to Mia's semi-supportive ramblings. "I heard him talking about it with Felix. Or is it supposed to be a secret?"

He DID hear! God, now I know why I'm not a freaking spy.

"Can't he stand up for himself now? He needs to get his fag-hag to stand up for him?"

I'm the hag. And the fag. And a drag. I've definitely suffered jet lag. The only good thing about not being a girl is that I'm never on the rag. No one outside of the movie Clueless should _bust a sag_.

My psychotic rhyming continued as Mia yanked me down the hallway, though there was a brief intermission as Josh's last words cut in.

"Make sure you tell him to keep his fag hands away from me. I don't swing that way."

No one does! In fact, I think the movies have been lying all this time. I am the only homosexual in…in…well, America. I've got Sir Elton over in bonny England.

My 'fag-hag' had dragged me up to the locked entrance to the school roof. "Oh, God, Thermopolis. Now everyone's going to know!"

She shushed me, putting her arms around me in a completely friendly manner. "It's okay. Maybe everyone will just take it as a joke."

I informed her that jokes usually don't involve the recipient bursting into tears and fleeing the scene. "I should have denied it! I should have _said something!_"

"But then Josh would have called you on your denial. If he really did over-hear you talking to Felix about it, then he knows. He can't have made a lucky guess like that."

"I'm not ready," I muttered, rocking slightly back and forth. "I'm just not ready for everyone to know. I was happy in the closet. It was safe."

She combed her fingers through my bangs as I sniffled. "I'm sorry. I guess you just have to come out a little sooner than you wanted."

Anything's sooner than _never_.


	14. Option 5

My mood for the rest of the day only worsened. People looked at me strangely, and they had hushed conversations and stopped just in time for me to walk by, making it clear that they were talking about me.

Josh even spray painted 'HOMO' on my locker, in case anyone hadn't heard the news. Thanks bunches, Josh. I owe ya one.

I felt like a fish out of water, just barely breathing and hanging on as every second went by.

But then, like a Jedi with powers (and a funky coloured light saber of course), Max saved my mood. Max being Mr. Hot Stuff from my Psych class.

I saw him outside the school as I was walking to the subway. My head was slightly bowed and I couldn't really see where I was going. I walked right into him.

"Sorry," I muttered, without looking up.

"That's cool," he replied, causing me to look right up into those foresty-green eyes. "See ya around."

Am I supposed to reply? I mean, is he actually talking to ME? I quickly turned around to see if Michael Peterson was behind me. I wouldn't put it past that bastard to have befriended Max already. But there was no one behind me.

"Uh, sure," I said as he started walking away. "See ya."

Smooth, Moscovitz. Real smooth. Oh well. At least I didn't start babbling about Star Trek or X Men or something. I'm sure THAT'D really impress a guy like Max.

But nonetheless, him not running from me the second he saw me sure did put a skip into my step for the rest of the afternoon. I even called Thermopolis later to gush about him, I couldn't help it. When confronted with such perfectness (and not in the form of a Josh Richter type, at least he doesn't seem to be so far) I am powerless to keep such feelings to myself.

She assumed I wanted the details on Max's little brother. Puh-lease. I mean, sure. That Leaves guy is also a fine looking fella, but Max is all man, all the way.

"What was his name again?" she asked. "Matt?"

Lord no. Matt is just so...common. Like Michael. Everywhere you go there's, like, three Michaels. Max is different. It's one of a kind. Which is exactly what he is.

"Max," I corrected her. "And, Lord, is he fine." Understatement, much?

Just as I was launching into my well versed description of his shiney, jet black hair, his perfect eyes coupled with perfect lashes, and his totally kissable lips, my MOM, of all people opened my bedroom door and walked in.

I quickly covered the phone with my hand, my face turning what I'm sure was a brilliant shade of red. "Go away, Mom," I hissed at her. I'm not usually that rude to her but who knows what she heard!

She looked taken aback for a second. I'm not sure if it's because of what she heard of my conversation with Mia or my reaction to her interrupting said conversation. "When you're ready, Michael, I'd like to talk to you in the kitchen please."

"Fine, whatever. I'll be there in a second."

She turned and left, shutting the door. I quickly got up and locked it behind her.

Damnit! What does she want to talk about?

"Oh, God, Thermopolis," I said, practically crying into the phone. "She just walked in when I was gushing over how his pants really accentuated his assets."

"What'd she say?" she asked.

"She wants to talk to me in the kitchen. Shit."

She asked me what I was going to do and I considered my options.

1. I can tell her I was talking about the school play, and how the costumes really fit the actors well.

2. I can deny everything she heard on the phone and ask her if she's still taking those pills I saw in the cabinet last week. But that may incur more trouble than it's worth for my 'cheek.'

3. I can tell the truth and see how they take it.

4. I can joke it off, pretend it was a girl I was talking about and she misheard.

5. I can jump out the window (from fifteen stories high) and try my luck in the big, bad world by myself.

"The only thing I can do..." I finally said, "lie."

I sighed loudly, trying to prepare myself for the 'talk'.

We spoke for a few more minutes, until I thought I was a little more ready. Then I hung up and was on my own. I walked out into the kitchen, my heart beating a million miles an hour.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked her when I walked in. She's sitting at the table with dad and Lilly.

Oh God, it's like a family conference.

Is it too late to go for option number 5? The street isn't that far down, right?

I sat down and looked at them expectantly.

Dad started. "Well, son. Lilly's just been telling us about what happened at school today, and firstly we just want to say how proud of you we are..."

Oh God. Here it comes. There's a but in there somewhere, I can practically smell it. It''ll be something like, "BUT, we're uncomfortable with you living under our roof and you have thirty minutes to pack up your stuff and get out."

I just know it.

"Yes, Michael," Mom cut in. "We want you to know that we'll support you in whatever you chose to do. We love you no matter what."

Gush gush. Does that mean I'm not getting kicked out?

"But there is something we'd like to ask of you," Dad continued, looking at me strangely.

Here it is. The 'Get out of our house' part. Maybe Thermopolis can let me crash at her place until I can find my own crib. Who knows, maybe they have a shelter for teenage boys who've been kicked out because of their sexual preference.

"We're writing a book. and we'd like you to be a part of it."

Huh? What do I or my current situation have to do with a book?

"What kind of book are you talking about?"

_Please don't say Kama Sutra for Homosexuals, please don't say Kama Sutra for Homosexuals..._

"Karen, would you like to explain," dad asked her.

Sure, because my mother talking about Kama Sutra is more comfortable for me.

"Michael, honey, we want to use your views as an example of how minorities in society are unfairly judged. We think you'd be perfect for a chapter or two."

Well at least it's nothing to do with Kama Sutra. BUT STILL! No way do I want 'my views' to be published! It'd be like taking a page out of Luke (my journal, named after Luke Skywalker, of course) and publishing THAT!

I pushed my chair back and stood up. "You want to use MY views?" I asked. They both nodded eagerly, Lilly just looked at my pityingly. At least she's taking my side, but I don't want her pity. "I think it's a freaking crazy idea and I think you're freaking twisted if you think I'm going to just give you my freaking _views_ about ANYTHING. I'm happy you aren't chucking me out of the house, but there's no way I'm being a part of any book you write."

And of course I didn't actually use the word 'freaking.'

I walked out of the room and locked myself in my room, ignoring their sorry attempts to apologise or 'talk' about it. I told them I don't want to talk to them about anything I'm going through.

And I don't. They're only going to turn around and publish it. I wouldn't be surprised if the kitchen was bugged so they could record my every word. Well I hope the mic picked up my colourful language. It should make for great book information.

I went to bed dreading the morning. It's only going to get worse when EVERYONE finds out, isn't it?

Maybe I can still go with option 5...


	15. Heroic Operations Mend Organs

Walking back into school after all the hullabaloo yesterday wasn't what most sane people would call a picnic.

If people are going to talk about me, I would definitely prefer for it to be something like "Ooh! There struts Michael with the hot ass and gorgeous lashes! Quick, where's the fire extinguisher? Because he's on FIYAH!"

Sadly, the chatter seems to have more of an "Omigod, gay alert! Better turn around quick before he starts scamming on my goods" ring to it.

Thermopolis was first to brave the flames and come strike up a conversation with me.

"You'll never believe what happened!" she squealed, looking positively beside herself.

Um, some idiot came out to a school full of close-minded, beer-swilling hypocrites who shower together like every day and then look at me, a guy who strangely enough lacks the experience they have with naked dudes, in disgust?

I decided to humor her. "What?"

"I spoke to—"

She never got to finish her thought, as the crowds parted and I was just about blinded by sheer perfection.

MAX!

I bit my lip to keep from shrieking in glee, especially when he—hold onto your seats, ladies. Gentlemen, you may hold my hand—WALKED RIGHT UP TO US.

Even something as casual as "Hey, what's up?" from the god had me inwardly quivering.

Thankfully, Mia answered as I tried to compose myself. Which I highly doubt is even possible. How do I collect these things and stick them back together when I don't even know what I'm made up of? I mean, it took me seventeen years to pick up on the 'gay' bit. What else is inside of me? Firefighter? SPACE RANGER?

"Um, you're Michael, right?"

Visions of galactic battles ending with a strapping young astronaut extending the hand of friendship to surprisingly cheerful extraterrestrials came to a screeching halt.

He…knows…my…NAME!

God, why can't I be called something fabulous, like Rico?

"Yeah, uh huh," I stammered, my knees trembling. "I'm Michael."

When I die, I want it to be etched on my grave "Smooth Talker, Smooth Walker, and Oh, What a Butt!"

Though the truth reads something like "Jive-Ass Turkey."

I trained my eyes on the ground as Max kept talking. "Oh, great. Because, um, Principal Gupta said she'd assigned you to help me out around the school. You know, with directions and all."

Holy shit! Hasn't Principal Gupta ever seen me read a map? Of course she hasn't. Because I DON'T KNOW HOW.

"Sure!" I squeaked. Wait, slow down, cowboy. I. Am. Cool. "I'll be your guide or whatever."

Max broke out into a beautiful, white smile. "Great! So can I walk you to your locker? We can talk."

I gulped, trying not to take the words in the way _I _wanted to hear them. Ya know, where the day ends in a playful romp between my sheets?

I walked along with Max, hoping my leisurely stroll was more attractive than stunted and Igoresque.

"So…where'd you move here from?" I said, attempting to break the awkward silence.

"Santa Monica," he said. "My dad's office transferred him to this branch. I don't know whether I love it or hate it yet. The people here seem kinda…"

"Overbearing? Closeminded? Cold? Unfeeling?"

Max chuckled. "I was gonna say 'uptight,' but yours works too."

"Oh, yeah," I said, laughing weakly. We had reached my locker and I started to fiddle with the combination, relieved to have something to do with my hands. "You Californians and your sunshine and your laidbacky-ness."

"_Longtime sunshine_," sang Max softly.

I froze, swiveling around slowly to face my forbidden crush. "You know _Songs from the Black Hole_?" I said in a hushed voice.

His entrancing eyes crinkled in merriment. "'Course I do. Weezer's stashed away first attempt at their second album. But I do love me some Pinkerton."

"Why bother? It's gonna hurt me. It's gonna kill when you desert me," I sang, laughing though I felt like bursting into tears.

"I'm a lot like you," wailed Max, his total adorableness making up for the 'can't carry a tune in a bucket' factor. "So please, hello! I'm here…I'm waiting…"

I grinned shyly at him and threw my books into my bag. Maybe things wouldn't be so awful. At least not with another Weezer fan to pal around with.

Alas, 'palling' is all we shall do.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

As the day wore on, Max and I found more in common with each other, and the cloud hanging over me alternated between brightening and condensing.

I _can't _like him this much! Besides being extremely intense and awkward to be around him, you can only imagine how much concentration I have to put into not shoving him into the nearest janitor's closet and making a man out of myself…with a man.

I'm thinking one of the brighter points of being gay is that I run no risk of knocking up girls or getting preggers myself. Bring on the whoredom.

_This can only get worse_, I thought, when Max made plans to come over and catch up on the Calculus he was behind on after school.

We walked along slowly, chattering on about Jar Jar Binks, bane of my existence, and how Harrison Ford should totally speak at graduation.

"Lucky me," said Max as we stepped into the elevator in my building. "I've found the coolest guy in school."

I giggled helplessly, slumping against the wall of the small enclosure.

"What are you laughing about?" said Max, starting to chuckle too.

"Um, I'm so not cool. Ask anyone."

"Like I'd listen to them."

And here's where it all ends. Obviously, I've been fooling myself all day into thinking that I'd found a great guy to chill with (platonically, mind you) while the rest of the AEHS population was hatin' on a brother. But that was only 'cuz he didn't know! He probably thought the 'HOMO' on my locker stood for some 'popular' club I was part of. "Heroic Operations Mend Organs' or something, to prepare for my future career as a world-renowned surgeon. Regaining my composure, I stood up stiffly and walked out the elevator doors as they slid open, hoping I could get out these next words and then get inside as quickly as possible.

"Maybe you should," I said quietly. "Obviously you missed out on the latest."

"What's that?"

"I'm kind of…well, I like guys, if you want the short and short of it. Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable or whatever. I haven't been hitting on you and I won't try anything and I'll steer clear of you from now on if that's what you want. So…bye."

Flinging open my door, I ran into the apartment and threw myself on the couch, gulping and sobbing and trying not to imagine what it would be like to be with Max.

But I couldn't help it. I totally felt his breath on my neck. His fingers in my hair. His thigh pressed against my thigh.

"Michael, I wanna talk to you."

JESUS CHRIST! Here I was, thinking Barney had had some profound affect on me, and I wasn't even making that stuff up. For once, reality seemed to play in my favor.

Unless Max is a transvestite or something.

"Hmm?" I sniffled.

He pushed back my bangs, a wide smile on his face. "I didn't miss out on the latest. Remember? I've been hanging out with the most gangsta kid in school all day."

I couldn't even enjoy the image of myself with a gat and a sweet ride, as I was totally puzzled as to why Max said it in the first place.

He licked his lips, my eyes following his tongue somewhat pervishly.

"I like you," he whispered.

Thinking I had misheard him over the drumming of my heartbeat, my eyes begged him for the cold, hard truth. At least it wouldn't hurt me in the long run. "I'm _gay_," I reminded him.

"Goddamnit!" he said, his voice breaking. "If you weren't so freaking cute when you're confused, I might have to tackle you."

"Huh?" I asked, totally not trying to turn him on. I swear!

But Max just grinned and with surprising strength, pushed me down flat on the couch.

My breath quickened, especially when he straddled me, his tan palms pressing firmly against my chest. "Let me clear this up for you," he said in a sultry tone. "You like guys? I…like…_guy_. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but you're a guy. The guy. Understand?"

My heart was pounding for entirely different reasons this time. "Maybe explain it one more time."

And he complied, but with a different teaching method. One that involved his scratchy cheeks rubbing against mine, his bangs falling into my eyes, and most importantly, his lips brushing mine every which way.

Wanna know the greatest part? Besides the kiss, of course. Afterwards, he totally sat there and held my hand while I fiddled with my calculator with the other and tutored him. He didn't leave! He didn't push me off in disgust (which would've been tough, seeing as how he was on top of me)!

I think I should be awarded a freaking medal for actually being able to lecture about triangles or whatever at such a time. Even though all I could hear was that 2Gether song. You know the one. _I know my calculus. It says U + Meequals Us…_

This was most likely because Max was singing it softly under his breath.

I heard a key scraping the lock of the front door and quickly slipped my hand out of Max's, throwing him a nervous smile. Which, fortunately, he reciprocated.

Lilly was standing before us the next minute, along with none other than Thermopolis. They gaped at us, but I couldn't find it in me to be too embarrassed. Not when I was ecstatically happy at the same time.

I told them that we'd just been studying, but they didn't seem to buy it. Uh, don't they see the calculator? It's front and center! Just like…Max's hand on my knee.

As soon as the girls left the room, I made an ambitious attempt to really buckle down and get some studying done, but just as we were actually getting through number one, Max informed me that he had to be getting home for dinner.

"I'll call ya tonight," he said at the doorway, pecking me on the lips.

I'm sure my entire face turned bright red, contrasting sharply with the mile-wide smile on my face.

I'M…SO…HAPPPPPPPYYYYYYYYY!

I floated into the kitchen where Thermopolis was gulping down some _agua_.

"Max just leave?" she asked.

I bit back a smile. "Uh huh."

_Max. _My _Max. Max Moscovitz. Michael Broderick. Max and Michael 2Getha 4Eva._

Mia was watching me with a strange look on her face. Christ. What must she be feeling right now? I mean, hopefully she's over that thing she had for me. I'd hate if she, the only person who would be, _couldn't_ be happy for my new relationship.

"We were just studying," I assured her.

"I know," she said, though her smile told me exactly _what _she knew. And that she was okay with it.

Phew.

"I mean, it's not as if anything was going on…"

"Okay!" she laughed. "I believe you."

"Because it's not even as if…"

She interrupted whatever nonsense I was about to spew out, saying, "It's okay. You don't have to explain yourself to me. But you can tell me about it later."

Now I couldn't help but giggle. "How do you know there's anything to tell?"

It's not like I mack and reveal. Or however that adage goes.

**Review! It might help me remember how to update Forever.**


	16. Licensed by the Government

**Very cool to see reviews for last chapter. Keep it up! Soon we'll reach the part of the story that extends past the Flamin' timeline. Just six chapters to go till the story's over anyway.**

When I walked into school the next day, I had Max's hand in mine. With that, I felt so much stronger, so much more ready and prepared for the looks and the whispered conversations from the douchebags at school.

Now I have someone at my side. If Josh wanted to give me shit, he'd have to give it to the both of us, and Max told me he doesn't take shit from no-one.

So when Josh saw us in the cafeteria, all he had to do was look at us the wrong way and Max informed him he had a black belt in karate and that his hands were "Licensed by the government as lethal weapons" and Josh soon shut his trap.

And now it's a whole week later and things are going okay for us. I mean, people are still hesitant to sit next to me in class or ask me my opinion on the book in English, but it's tolerable.

I only wish Thermopolis could be as happy as me. I think I'm going to have to give her a helping hand on that issue...

"Max," I said after school one day. We were sitting in his apartment studying for an upcoming Bio test.

"Mmm?" he asked, flipping the page and glancing at the answer.

"What's up with Leaves?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, looking away from his notebook and up at me. "You're not thinking of ditching me for my younger, less handsome brother, are you?"

"Of course not!" I replied quickly. "But I know Mia's interested in him, but she'd never make the first move. Do you know if he's seeing someone? Or if he's interested in her at all?"

He let out a little laugh. "Nah, Leaves left his girlfriend, Sydney, back in Santa Monica a few months ago when we found out we were moving. He said he didn't want to end on bad terms with her, and he didn't think a long distance relationship would work. After all, he's only fifteen. But, uh, if by interested you mean does he think about Mia every five minutes? Then yeah, I'd say he was more than slightly interested. Do you think they need a little push in the right direction?"

I nodded eagerly. "Definitely."

A few days later we cornered Leaves in the kitchen as he was getting an after school snack.

"So, Leaves," Max said casually, sitting down at the table across from him. I sat down next to Max.

"Wassup?" Leaves asked through a mouthful of peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"What are your intentions with Mia?" I blurted out, probably sounding more like a protective father than an eager-to-help friend.

He looked at me blankly. "Uh, I don't have...I don't...I mean...uh..."

Max shot me a scornful look. "Let me handle this," he hissed. I sat back and he turned back to his brother. "We want to help you," he insisted.

"With staying away from Mia?" he asked, eyeing me suspisciously.

"No, you idiot. With _getting_ her."

Leaves let out a sigh of relief and sat up. "Oh, okay. So...what are you going to do about it?"

"Well," Max started. "What are you doing right now? Apart from studying at her house after school."

Leaves shifted uncomfortably. "Nothing..."

"Then there's your first problem," I pointed out, ignoring Max's insistence that he can 'handle' it himself. "Mia isn't the type of girl who clues onto things very easily. I'm not saying she's stupid, but she doesn't like to think that people like her that way. She's very hesitant."

"Exactly," Max piped up. "So you'll have to do more to show her that you care. Call her at night to talk about something other than homework. Take her to the movies and take her hand during the scary parts. Show her you icare/i." As Max said the word 'care' he slipped his arm around my shoulder.

"Trust me," I added, enjoying the warmth of Max's strong shoulder. "She'll be putty in your hands once you start paying more attention to her."

"And you're happy with me going after her?" he asked skeptically.

"Anything that makes Mia happy, makes me happy," I told him. Adding, "But if you hurt her, you'll have me to deal with."

Leaves laughed, clearly not understanding that I was being totally serious. Do people just not take me seriously when I have a buff, strapping young man across my shoulders anymore?

Maybe I should enter my views on how society judges minorities in mom and dad's book...Nah.

Leaves reported back to us a few days later.

"I don't think she's interested," he said as we walked into the school.

"Whatddya mean?" I asked. As far as I knew, Mia was MORE than interested in Leaves. She spoke of nothing and no one else.

"Well, I did what you suggested. I rang her last night to talk about something other than homework, and she hardly said anything. I could hear what sounded like someone gasping for air, and when I asked her about it she blamed it on some fat guy called Louie. Then she quickly hung up. Obviously she wasn't interested in talking to me."

I sighed. "Um, maybe it was a problem with her cat," I lied. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with you calling. That was just a coincidence."

He nodded unsurely. "So you think I should call her tonight?"

"Yeah. And ask her to see a movie. Something scary, like the Ring 2 or something."

"Okay. I'll give it one more go."

He patted me on the back and skipped off to his locker.

Oh, Mia, pull yourself together! This boy is ripe and ready for the taking!

Thermopolis was practically in tears when I saw her in G&T.

"Michael," she whispered, sliding into the seat next to me. "I did the worst thing. The most horrible thing. I wouldn't be surprised if he never spoke to me again. God, why am I such an idiot?"

"Mia, slow down," I said. "What are you talking about?" Of course, I can't admit that I know what she's talking about, because if she finds out I planned it, she'll kill me.

"iLeaves/i called me last night!" she squeaked. "At first I thought he wanted to know something about homework, becuase we'd been doing our English papers a few hours before, but no, he said he just wanted to talk!"

"So what did you talk about?" I asked.

She looked away, totally embarrassed. "I freaked out. I didn't know what to say and there was a long silence. Then I started having problems breathing because I was having a panic attack. He asked what the noise was so I blamed it on Fat Louie and hung up. Oh, Michael! I HUNG UP on him! What if he never calls again!"

I gently rubbed her back. "It's okay. I'm sure he'll call again. Tonight in fact. I bet he'll call tonight."

She coughed out a laugh. "Yeah right. I've been avoiding him all day because I can't bear to see him after what I did. He probably thinks I'm the biggest loser ever."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Well if he doesn't think it then he's an idiot. Because I AM a loser."

"Mia, you know that's not true."

"Pfft. Yes it is. But it doesn't matter anyway. Because he won't call back." She dropped her head and it landed with a bang on the desk top. "Ow," she muttered, without bothering to lift her head.

"Things worked out for me, Mia," I told her. "Maybe things can still work out for you."

She didn't reply.

Max and I went to the video store that night. We figured Leaves would be on the phone to Mia all night and we didn't know what else to do.

"I bet you've never seen this one," I said to him, picking up a movie and shoving it in his hands.

"The Blues Brothers? Who HASN'T seen that movie? Dan was obsessed with it, we used to have to watch it at least once a weekend."

"Who's Dan?" I asked, thinking he had another brother I didn't know about.

"Oh," he replied, looking away. "He was um...he was my..."

...Love of his life. Damnit. I should have known I wouldn't be Max's first. Not everyone is as slow to escape the closet as me.

"Your first boyfriend?" I asked, my voice catching on the words despite my best attempts to sound nonchalant.

"Yeah, something like that..."

Max didn't offer up any more of an explanation, and I didn't ask for one. But that doesn't mean I'm not anxious to know exactly who he was.

"Let's go over to tke kids section," Max said exuberantly. "I want to get something I haven't seen in ages. Like Aladdin!"

We took three steps towards the kids section and almost ran head first into someone. And not just anyone. Felix.

"Michael!" he practically yelped, thrusting the movie in his hands behind his back before I could see what it was. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, Felix," I said casually, strangely not caring about seeing him again. We haven't spoken in weeks, but we don't need to now. Now I have Max. "We're just getting a movie."

He looked up at Max. "Right. I'll uh, see ya around."

Once Felix was out of ear shot Max asked me, "Ex-boyfriend?"

"Felix?" I echoed. "No way. Just an old friend. I don't have any skeletons in my closet."

He grinned. "Oh, It's just he had...Nevermind."

"He had what?" I asked, interested.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter. Now let's find Aladdin and get out of here."

After seeing Felix, I couldn't have been happier to get out of there.


	17. Latin on a Friday

**Sorry about the wait. And thanks for all the reviews!**

Ya know what the great thing about holding Max's hand as we walked down crowded streets? I don't even notice people staring. For all I know, they could just be minding their own business. I mean, Max and I aren't the only same-sex couple in the Big Apple. As if.

But whenever we're palm-to-palm, I'm just oblivious to everyone and everything going on around me. Like, all that matters is that I've got somebody to hold my hand and chatter on about Menudo.

Definitely preferable to the pining-after-Felix days.

Speaking of my old comrade, he was strangely jumpy around me. Most likely because of the Max factor, but I was fairly sure he'd gotten over that by now.

You know what? Forget him. What do I care about some homophobe who may have been my dear pal at one point? If he can't handle me, then it obviously wasn't meant to be. Platonically or sexually.

I was jerked back to the present as Max's key scraped the lock of his apartment. "Mom?" he called as we strolled into the foyer. "Dad?"

When no one called back from the recesses of their ginormous pad, Max took the opportunity to both grab my ass and mash his lips against my own.

"God, you're sexy," he murmured, taking my hand and yanking me down the hall.

"Where are we going?" I asked, startled by the sudden change of pace.

"Leavesy? Ya home, muffin?" called Max. He then opened the door to his room and practically shoved me inside.

I giggled helplessly. "You're nuts."

"I'd be nuts if I didn't take this opportunity to have some fun with my lovely boyfriend."

"Where are your parents?" I asked breathlessly as Max sat me down on the bed. It had only just occurred to me that I had yet to meet the parents of my boyfriend of almost a month.

Max had met my folks through a series of increasingly humiliating incidents in which they took the opportunity to poke their pretty little noses in rooms where Max and I happened to be snogging.

"Out," said Max, straddling me. "They're always out. But I think they'll be home later tonight. Why? Am I boring you?"

Uh, hottie in my lap? Me no think so.

"No!" I assured him, pushing back a shiny lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. "I just wanted to meet them that's all. Under regular circumstances, instead of how you met _my _parents. Like, you wouldn't be licking my ear."

Max didn't chuckle fondly at this memory, but instead halted his nuzzling. I could hear him breathing rather heavily in my ear, though to my knowledge, we hadn't even gotten to the really good stuff.

"What's the matter?"

"They're…um…let's maybe not talk about them _right now_," he whispered, regaining his rather lust-driven tone. "The parentals aren't exactly a turn-on."

And I must say, Max is a rather spectacular boyfriend when he's not thinking about his parents. That is, when he's thinking about the best way in which to nibble my lower lip.

It's really weird thinking back to last month, when I was lonely, depressed, closeted, and fully sure that I was looking forward to a life of eternal misery.

But I think admitting my sexual preference was one of the best things I've ever done (you can't beat 2nd place in the regional spelling bee in third grade). I mean, I'm _happy _now….I'm at peace…I'm in _love_…

Well, lust really. You can't love someone you've only known for thirty days.

But who knew that I'd find such a great guy on the first try? I wonder if Max is as happy as I am. If he feels the same way…

Except that's impossible. Because I'm not his first real kiss. I'm not his first hand-hold or ass-grope or cheek-stroke.

I'm just the replacement of whoever this Dan guy was.

I'm what Max is _settling _for after being forced to move to the other side of the country.

"Michael?" Max looked at me with a furrowed brow. "Whassamatter?"

It was kind of hard to voice all this aloud when Max's hand was resting casually between my legs.

"Nothing's the matter," I grumbled.

"No, seriously. Are we going to fast? Because we could always just watch the movie. I'm not asking you to—"

"It's not that!" I cried, throwing my head back on his pillow. "It's that you have to ask. That you've been there…done that. And you're totally in love with some other guy back in that crazy cult state and I'm just sloppy seconds. Admit it. You'd so much rather he was on your mattress."

Max took his hand away from my manhood. "Where are you getting all this from?"

That's all he has to say! I pour out my soul and he treats me like a LUNATIC?

By then, angry ears were glistening in the eyes that had been locked so tenderly with Max's just a mere moment ago. "Did you love him?" I whispered through gritted teeth.

"Love who?" asked Max, staring at me with utter confusion written all over his chiseled features. "Oh, Dan?"

"Yes, _Dan_," I spat. "Who else?"

Max looked thoughtful, looking down at his Power Ranger bedspread. "Well, that's what I told him. I won't lie. But…I don't think I really was. I think I was caught up in the moment. Like, he was my first boyfriend and the first one who knew about me and he fully supported me and accepted me. So I guess I was in love with that part. But other than that he was far too jealous and superficial and possessive. Gawd, it was a nightmare."

Jealous? Possessive! SUPERFICIAL?

"Am I a nightmare too?" I blubbered.

Max seemed to be trying to figure out how his horniness had dragged him down this road. "Of course you're not," he said softly, lying down beside me on the bed. "You're special. And sweet. And caring. And you're the first one that counts, in my opinion."

My face broke out into a wide, wide grin. But just as I was leaning forward to give Max an 'I'm such an overreacting douchebag. Forgive me?' sort of kiss, the sound of a door slam reached our ears and Max shot up.

"Max? Leaves?" a female voice called. Leaves must be having some conversation with Thermopolis, because he's been holed up in his room for hours.

Who ever it was sure sent Max into a flurry.

"Oh, God," he whispered.

"We're home!" a deep voice reverberated around the apartment.

"Zip your pants!" hissed Max, his left eye starting to twitch.

I still didn't wise up. "Wait, what's wrong? Are you feeling all right? I'm sorry, ya know, for overre—"

"It's cool," said Max quickly, putting a hand on my arm. "Just come on, and um, follow my lead. Don't say a word otherwise. And try not to walk so wonderfully. I'll explain later, 'kay?"

"Um, all right," was all I had time to say before Max pulled me out into the hallway, dropping my hand like a hot potato once we got out the door.

Almost immediately, I was faced with two rather middle-aged complete strangers.

"Hi, Maxie," said the woman, leaning forward to peck him on the cheek, which flushed to a rather maroonish hue.

"Mom, Dad," said Max, gesturing to the old folks. "This is my friend Michael."

Um…

WHAT?

Last time I checked, my friends don't press themselves close close close to me when the subway isn't even that crowded just for the opportunity to enjoy my aftershave.

Mr. Broderick nodded at me. "Nice to meet you, Michael…"

"Moscovitz," I finished, throwing a perturbed glance Max's way. "I go to school with Max."

"We were just working on some Latin homework!" chirped Max.

"On a Friday?" asked his mom in disbelief.

"Tell that to Michael!" said Max, laughing just a bit too loudly. "He's a workaholic. But I'm learning from him."

He's going to learn what happens when you piss off a Moscovitz. That's right. You heard me!

I'm getting Lilly in on this. Homegirl can kick some ass.

I didn't get the chance to berate Max until we were eating pizza in his room ten minutes later.

"You've got some sauce on your lip," said Max, leaning forward, I guess, so he could kiss it off.

But I reared back, my eyes flashing angrily.

"Michael," sighed Max, setting down his slice. "You're not mad at me again, are you?"

No answer.

"I've got a good reason!"

Stone-cold silence.

"My parents kind of…don't know."

"About us?" I asked, still not looking at him.

"Well…that figures into it. But they don't, uh…"

"Spit it out," I said impatiently.

"Let me put it this way…if I wanted to kiss you with my parents around, it would have to be in there."

He pointed a slender finger over at a door left slightly ajar, revealing a rather large collection of Converses spilling out.

"In the closet," I said slowly, finally meeting his eyes.

But he was the one looking away this time. "Exactly."

Long, uncomfortable silence.

"But…why?"

He closed his eyes and drew his knees up to his chest. "I'm scared," he admitted. "You should see my dad when he catches Leaves watching Will and Grace. I'd be shunned until the end of time."

"That's not true," I assured him. "I mean, I wrestled with it for weeks and then my parents kind of found out anyway. In fact, I only really _told _a couple of people. But it was all okay. I'm okay."

"You don't understand," mumbled Max, shaking his head. "It's…not that easy for me. I've tried, believe me. But any time I get close, it's like my dad knows what's coming and completely changes the subject on me."

"That's awful."

"Tell me about it."

The one advantage I could see to Max's secret is that his parents had been completely on-board with me sleeping over.

But they didn't have anything to worry about anyhow. Unless Max is telling the truth…and then they probably wouldn't care for boy-boy snuggling.

I untangled myself from Max's vice grip during the middle of the night, suddenly craving liquid refreshment. The digital clock on his night stand read "1:30" and I rubbed my eyes, stumbling towards the kitchen.

I wasn't alone in my late-night thirst, however. Mr. Broderick was sitting at the kitchen table in his tattered bathrobe when I felt my way in through the almost impenetrable dark of the rest of the place.

"Oh, hey," I croaked, looking at my boyfriend's father and starting to understand why Max hadn't spilled the beans on his homosexual tendencies. "Sorry to bother you. I just got thirsty."

"Michael _Moscovitz_," said Mr. Broderick in a really weird voice, his mouth smiling but not his eyes. "Ya know, Moscovitz, I work for an insurance company."

"That's, um, very nice, Mr. Broderick," I said politely, wondering where the glasses might be.

"One of my colleagues happens to be a man named Jeremy Richter. You may know his son…"

Uh, do I ever?

"Jeremy tells me interesting things about the school I've just shelled out over thirty grand for my kid to attend."

Mr. Broderick had stood by then, causing me to take a step back.

"Wh-what sort of things?"

"Evil things," said Mr. Broderick, raising his eyebrows. "Things about nancy boys flitting around and doing things that men shouldn't be doing."

I couldn't even fake-respond to this. So I just took another step back.

"Do you know who this might be?"

Very slightly, I shook my head.

"YOU KNOW GODDAMN WELL WHO IT IS!" shouted Mr. Broderick, his entire head, from nightshirt up, turning a rather purplish gray.

Another step back brought me smack into the refrigerator.

"And I'll be damned," continued Max's father, wagging a finger in my direction. "If I throw my money away so my son can come to a new school and make friends with the resident faggot."

So we're back to that friends crap again.

"You don't deny it, do you?" he said, a somewhat psychotic gleam in his Max-like eyes. "And now you're over here trying to seduce my boy, and I won't have it. I won't stand for that crap. Don't think I didn't see you in his bed like that. So get your sinful ways and your seduction and your lip gloss out of my goddamn house!"

Frozen, I couldn't even breathe let alone oblige.

"I said GET OUT!" shrieked Mr. Broderick, "GET AWAY FROM MY BOY AND MY FAMILY AND GET OUT! I don't stand for this crap, kid. And I certainly won't tolerate you under my roof."

Before I stopped lying to myself, I was always kind of weirded out by homosexuals. It's odd, I know. But you can't just spend your whole life denying what you really want.

Except that was exactly what Mr. Broderick wanted me to do. Right after I fled his house forever.

I mean, seriously. One pudgy insurance salesman plans to cut me off from my boyfriend? He can't do that! Can he? I mean, he's just his father. He can't change schools! He can't not come over to my house! He can't not want to kiss me and stroke my hair and all that!

Right?

Oh, God. He's going to extinguish all my cheer and light with one homophobic blow (I wonder how he'll accomplish that) and just trash all the sanity I've worked so hard for lately.

He's going to rob me of everything.

Christ. I can't breathe. I can't think. I've just gotta get out of here. Especially with Mr. Broderick glaring at me like I'm Satan incarnate, and his fists clenching and unclenching, and the rather frightening muscle twitching in his left cheek.

But I can't leave Max!

Seriously, though. How much of a choice do I have?

"Dad!" called a wonderfully familiar voice sharply into the stagnant air. "Dad, what are you doing?"

I could tell as Max stared at me, pressed flat against his fridge, that he knew exactly what was going on.

Like that mattered. What could be done?

Maybe I'll take Mia up on the offer she made me a while back. Lord knows I'll need all the love I can get being AEHS' 'resident faggot.'

All these horrible scenarios and poisonous thoughts and Backstreet Boy songs kept flooding my head until I could hardly take it any more. THE MADNESS OF IT ALL!

And then it all quieted. And I felt that sweet, sweet sensation. You know the one. I was gushing about it earlier? It includes an adorable boy and his knuckles?

That's right. Max was totally clenching my hand as though there were no tomorrow, looking his crumbling dad straight in the eye.

"Stop…stop yelling at my boyfriend," said Max, with all the strength he could muster.

I'm sure Mr. Broderick and I wore the same jaw-dropped expression of disbelief.


	18. Knight in Power Ranger Boxer Shorts

Hello, few people who are reading this wonderful story.I am the forgotten half of Schwartzibrow, the half that isn't on vacation and can therefore update. There's not much more of this story left, so keep with it. From this point on it's after what happened in the original Flamin'.

* * *

I didn't say anything.

Max is coming head first out of the closet, and I can't even open my mouth to say anything. Not even "Congratulations!" or "Welcome to the dark side!"

But if it's any consolation, I don't think his father can think of much to say either. "Wha---What?" he stumbled, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"You heard me," Max stammered. "Michael's...Michael's my boyfriend. And you can't talk to him like that. I won't let you."

Oh, sweet Lord. Oh, Holy Saviour! Never have I heard such beautiful words muttered (though not very strongly) from such a beautiful mouth. If it wasn't for the fact that Mr. Broderick looks like he's about to blow a gasket any second, I'd take that beautiful mouth and cover it with my own. But now would so not be the appropriate time for that.

To my utter surprise, Mr. Broderick sighed calmly. "Max, you're clearly not thinking clearly. It's the middle of the night, you're obviously still half asleep. Go back to bed while I escort your _friend_ to the door." He grabbed my arm tightly and started towards the door.

Damn, just when I thought Max had the upper hand. Now he's going to back down and chalk it up to lack of sleep like his dad's suggesting. My knight in shining armour (or rather, my knight in Power Ranger boxer shorts) is no more.

"No."

Just like that. No.

...And he's back! Actually, he never went anywhere. I should never have doubted him!

"Maxie, come on now. You can't tell me that you actually associate with people like this. That you..." He raised his thick eyebrows suggestively, not letting go of the power grip he has on my arm even just a little bit.

"That I'm, what, dad? That I AM one of those people? What people do you mean anyway? Michael is one of the nicest, most caring people I've ever met, and I'm still getting to know him. If that's the type of person you're referring to me associating with then I fail to see where your problem is."

"You know damn well where my problem is!" he finally barked, letting go of my arm roughly. "So don't be so darn smart about it all!"

"Dad," Max said calmly, emploring the soothing tone he used on me last week when I fell face first into my locker. "Why is this such a surprise to you?"

Mr. Broderick didn't reply. He simply looked away from his son, with sadness in his eyes.

"I know it's not a surprise for you to learn this, is it? Remember my French tutor, Dan, last year? Well, he wasn't my French tutor."

Oh, but I bet he taught him SOME French things. And I'm not just talking about toast.

"And I think you knew that," Max added, looking into his dad's face, daring him to look back.

After a painful minute, he did look back. And he wasn't wearing the same angry must-kill-Michael expression he was wearing just moments before. Is this the kind of situation where I should walk away? Or at least try not to listen?

Only how can I not listen when my boyfriend is saying such wonderful things?

I mean, sure, he's mentioned Dan, but I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be grateful for that name to come up in conversation.

Mr. Brodericks gaze shifted and settled on me.

And I'm not going to lie and say that I didn't think of jumping out of the window right there and then. But I held my ground. Max's hand still in mine helped a lot. Though I'm sure the amount of sweat on it is completely disgusting him right now.

"We'll talk about this in the morning," he said gruffly to Max.

"And Michael?" he asked, the tone in his voice showing his excitement at having stood up to his father.

"Can stay on the couch for now. But I want you gone first thing in the morning, boy. I need some time with my son alone."

I gulped and nodded.

Mr. Broderick stood guard at the living room door while Max grabbed me a blanket and set up the couch for me. There wasn't even chance for a thank you kiss with those hawk eyes watching.

- - -

I woke up the next morning because a pair of lips were pressed against my forehead. Which, I must say, is much better than what I'd been expecting: Mr. Brodericks foot in my face.

"Good morning," I whispered, smiling up at him.

"God, Michael, can you believe I did that last night? I couldn't sleep because I was afraid I'd wake up and find out it hadn't actually happened. But it did. I stood up to him and I told him the truth...Well, basically."

"I know," I said. "I'm so proud of you."

He grinned, revealing his perfect pearly whites. "Thanks. But now he wants to talk to me this morning. I don't even want to think about what's going to happen."

"You'll be fine," I assured him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it supportively. "I have complete faith in you after last night."

"Yeah, but you helped last night."

How? I stood there like a stunned mullet. "I didn't exactly do anything. It was all you."

"You were there though. That helped."

"Well then," I told him, sitting up. "I'll be there in spirit then today. You won't be alone."

"Thanks."

"But now I'd better go. I don't fancy a run in with your dad so early."

I jumped up, threw on my jeans and shirt that Max had brought out of his room for me, and ran out the door before the sleeping beast woke.


End file.
